Variations
by rwcr
Summary: Ch. 11. AU, sequel to The Twist of Time. Growing darkness tests the Pack. Bonds will break and form as twelve young adults fight for their future. Despite everything, they'll aim to keep smiles and stay together... Would that it were that easy.
1. Past and Present

(Disclaimer: Most belongs to J.K. Rowling, the creator of the wonderful Harry Potter series. Most of what doesn't belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow, the creator of the amazing Dangerverse. I make no claim to anything that is theirs. And honestly, you should know that by now.)

_**This story is the sequel to "The Twist of Time." If you haven't read that one, you might be very confused.** Basic premise, which should be enough for Dangerverse readers: Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were thrown back twenty-one years in time on August 11, 1997/1976. It's now the beginning of summer 1977, so the trio have graduated and the Marauders and Ginny have just finished their sixth year. Danger (Gertrude Granger, Hermione's latent twenty-years-older sister whose magic was awakened by the terrible shock of her parents' deaths by Death Eaters) and Aletha (Freeman, from the Dangerverse) are in fifth. Peter is good, and is dating a rising seventh-year Ravenclaw named Rachel Trent. James and Lily are going out. The Marauders, the time-travelers, Lily, Rachel, Aletha, and Danger are magically bound to each other as a Pack. Remus and Danger have their unique bond, and Harry and Ginny have the mental aspect of it. If you're still confused, read ToT!_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Past and Present**.

In a realm not entirely of this world, ten well-known people were having an enthusiastic discussion.

Few, though, would have believed this if you told them the details. For one, these people had something of a legendary status. For another, they had been dead for over nine hundred years.

"I'm impressed," Helga Hufflepuff said appreciatively. "They've adjusted to this much better than I expected they would. Swearing that oath—precious few teenagers would even think to do that. Precious few adults, for that matter."

"And now we reach the unpredictable bit," Brenna Ravenclaw said with a sigh. "More work for us."

Rowena shot her a sharp Look. "Brenna, just the other day you told me you were becoming _bored_ with our young friend in the other universe. Should not a bit of excitement do you some good?"

It was Sophia who answered. "Well, I guess I can't deny I like this Harry better than the others. It's just so much _work!_ These twelve are so completely unpredictable that absolutely none of the things they touch can be predicted! Don't you know how rare that is?"

"Yes, yes, of course I know," Rowena responded placatingly, but with a cutting undertone. "You do recall that I was the one who taught you all of this?"

"Of _course_, Mother."

"_Enough,_" Godric Gryffindor said softly. "Once again we deviate from the topic at hand."

"And what topic was that?" Alexander Slytherin asked cheekily. "I was under the impression this was just a Ravenclaw squabbling match." Rowena shot him a Glare much worse than the one she had used with Brenna. Almost unconsciously, Alex shut his mouth.

"Thank you," said Godric. "Now, I believe that _topic_ was our little twist of time, as my youngest Heir put it. Events are going to become rather hectic soon, you understand. Tom is gathering his forces, and with what he now knows of the 'Pack', as I believe they've taken to calling themselves . . . Well, let's just say it's not going to be pretty."

"Do you think they'll make it?" Maura Gryffindor asked, concerned. Her concern was forgivable, of course, considering it was two of her Heirs at issue here.

Godric frowned slightly in thought. "Make it? Of course they will. Maybe not all of them—group that large, conditions that dangerous, it'd be a small miracle if they all _did_ survive. But they know what to expect, at least. I'm sure they'll at least defeat Tom."

Adam Hufflepuff laughed slightly. "Godric, we just listened to Brenna complain that even _we_ don't know what do expect. I know it's your Heir, but still—be realistic."

"I am _always_ realistic, Adam." A few seconds' pause, during which Godric looked thoughtful and Adam slightly fidgety. Finally: "I suppose, though, that it would be wise to give them a few tools for the tight situations in which they will inevitably find themselves. End of July, probably. I think they can manage till then."

"The Heart of Hogwarts has accepted them, Godric," Rowena reminded him. "By all rights, they deserve the status. Certainly they have proven themselves more than adequately."

"Unlike _some_ people." Alex's expression turned stony. "That Snape may have sworn the oath, but he hasn't proven it, and I damn hope he fails."

"_Alex_," Helga chided. "You _know_ we're not supposed to develop emotional connections to people in the living world without good reason."

"And I daresay this is good reason," Alex shot back darkly. "Considering what he did after Dumbledore's death—"

"No one is impenetrable, and that Unbreakable Vow really did hurt him deeply, you know. Not to mention he's not _this_ Snape. You're as bad as Lily, vowing revenge on Petunia for might-have-hurting her not-yet-born son . . ."

"She deserves it," Adam said simply.

"Hear, hear!" Paul Gryffindor agreed. "After what she did to my _n_-times-great-nephew—"

Margaret Ravenclaw cut him off. "We've got more pressing concerns at the moment, Paul," she said briskly. "Like _my_ Heir. Or the fact that this castle is, shall we say, 'booked' for the 30th? You do know how boisterous the Pride is going to be, don't you? Voldemort's dead! This place may be a dream world, but it's still not infinitely large."

Godric thought for a moment. "I suppose it'll do the past Pack some good to see that," he said levelly, surprising most of the Founders. "After all, the Pride already did what this group is trying to do. It seems that it would be rather inspirational. And I have a feeling they'd like each other regardless."

"Not to mention it would be hilarious," Alex said. "Especially Harry's reaction to my honorary Heir. And Aletha's, to her counterpart's last name . . ."

"Fine, fine," Margaret relented. "You win. But if this all blows up in your face—"

"I'll come to Brenna, like I always do."

Brenna groaned.

* * *

_Some things change with time; some always stay the same. This is the story of the variations._

* * *

Meanwhile, a gray car, ordinary to all appearances, drove up a narrow dirt road off the small village of Godric's Hollow. It stopped at an inviting-looking stone house—not a mansion, certainly, but spacious enough for a large family to live comfortably.

Of course, it was only the magical people who saw that house for what it was. The Muggles all thought it was old, decrepit, and haunted.

The back door of the car opened, and eight people piled out: two very similar-looking boys with messy black hair, one of which was holding the hand of a freckled girl with long red hair; her brother, another redhead, who was smiling and standing _very_ close to a bushy-haired girl, who was next to her very similar-looking sister, who in turn was grinning at a brown-haired boy in some secret joke known only to the two of them; not to mention the _other_ black-haired boy, this one with hair that actually obeyed his attempts to tame it, standing on the first boy's other side . . .

It was a very interconnected group of people. They had been to metaphorical Hell and back together; their bonds of friendship and more-than-friendship were reinforced by ancient magic, and they would never break apart. They called themselves the Pack, and had developed over the past year a variety of odd but meaningful private traditions.

They also spanned two generations, despite the fact that the age range among the group was at most two years.

Every one of them was unique, and each would have his or her role to play in the war against Voldemort—but that didn't mean they couldn't have a bit of fun first.

"Welcome to Potter Manor," James Potter said gallantly, indicating the wrought-iron gate of the house with a flourish. "We hope you enjoy your stay."

Sirius Black, James's best friend, emitted a short bark of laughter. "Oh, come on, James, don't go all formal on us now. We _are_ among friends, you know. Not to mention your not-yet-conceived son."

James looked thoughtful for a minute as Harry Potter grinned slightly. "What's this I hear?" Charles Potter, James's father, asked as he got out of the car. "Finally found an explanation for why our tapestry has been acting up?" His eyes held an almost Dumbledoreian twinkle.

Harry's grin widened in size, and he walked over to shake Charles's hand. "Harry Potter, born July 31, 1980, to Lily and James Potter. Nice to meet you, er, Grandpa."

Charles laughed. "Certainly never expected I'd be called that by someone James's age! Of course, these aren't exactly usual circumstances. I'd love to hear the whole story sometime later—I'm sure it's an interesting one—but for now, make yourselves at home."

Paige Potter, James's mother, walked up to stand next to her husband. She smiled genially at her guests. "I know I told James any of his friends had a place here for as long as they needed, but I must say I wasn't expecting any time-travelers. I suppose it doesn't really make all that much difference. You're still teenagers, I'm sure all of you still eat like there's no tomorrow . . . There haven't been this many of you before, though. Has some crisis arisen?"

Harry shook his head. "No, none at all, save that we—that is, me, my girlfriend Ginny, her brother Ron, and his fiancée Hermione—" He indicated each person as he named them.

Paige's eyes widened in delighted surprise. "Fiancée? Oh, congratulations, you two! I wish you all the best. Have you set a date for the wedding yet?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," said Hermione, blushing slightly. "And no, we haven't. Ron only just proposed to me a few days ago. We'll be looking for a house, but obviously we haven't really had a chance to find one yet. I think maybe sometime in August . . ."

Harry cleared his throat. "Anyway, we four don't have anything here except what was in our trunks, so we're very grateful for your hospitality."

"Of course, dears," said Paige. "And Sirius I know, of course, and I heard from the Lupins about their trip, Remus; you know you're more than welcome here, even if this is the first time you've chosen to take us up on the offer. Which leaves . . ."

Danger extended her hand. "Gertrude Granger, known as Danger, Mrs. Potter. Pleased to meet you."

"And you." Though her expression was polite, Paige was still obviously curious.

Danger elaborated on her situation. "Last October, during a set of very trying circumstances, I accidentally managed to create a unique bond—soul bond, I guess you could call it—with Remus here." She poked him playfully. "The negative side-effect is that we get physically ill if we're separated for more than a day or so. Of course, I'd say the positive consequences dwarf that pretty strongly."

"What might those be?" Charles asked, curiosity written on his face.

"This, for one," said Danger's voice out of Remus's mouth as their eyes swirled with color—blue for Danger's brown, brown for Remus's blue. "A mental connection between us," she continued, using her own mouth. "And no more 'furry little problem' to worry about."

Remus's head whipped around to look at Danger worriedly.

"Oh, don't worry, dear, we've known for years," Paige assured him. "What wonderful news! We know the Lupins quite well, hasn't your father mentioned that?"

Remus regained his voice. "Yes, of course, it's just—I wasn't sure they'd mention _that_, to anyone. I guess I'm still sensitive about it, even if I am the first person who could technically be called a 'former werewolf'." He winced as the last word passed his lips.

"Well, let's not worry about that right now," Mrs. Potter said. "We're very glad to have you. If you'll just follow me in . . . Potter Manor isn't nearly as luxurious as a lot of the old families' homes; the name is more a matter of tradition than anything. It's definitely more than we need sometimes, though."

As Harry passed through the gate, the wards around the Manor flashed red for a second. He looked at Charles questioningly.

"Ah, it seems our wards have accepted you as a Potter heir, with all that entails, if you catch my drift." Harry nodded and, remembering what James had told him about the Gryffindor gift, surreptitiously produced a small fire behind Charles's left ear. The older man's eyes widened. "I see that you do. I suppose you do possess some degree of good judgement after all, James," he teased. "Anyway, that seems to fully bear out your story." He looked at Harry more closely, with a concern that was almost—parental? The messy-haired youth had never really been the object of such fatherly affection, but he still was pretty sure he saw it for what it was.

_Maybe that'll be me, someday . . ._

**I'm glad you think so,** said a female voice in his mind. **I sure do.**

Charles stopped walking. "Do you have one a bond like Remus's too, Harry? Your eyes turned brown there for a second."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, with Ginny. It was a gift from Margaret Ravenclaw—tell you later," he hastily amended, seeing the shocked looks on the elder Potters' faces.

"You really are the most unique bunch of people I've ever known," Charles said, impressed. "As I was saying, Harry—well, I know it might not really be my place to tell you this, but you're family, not to mention a friend, and we Potters take care of our own. I'm sure it must be hard for you, getting thrown into this time period, but if there's anything you need—_anything_—don't hesitate to ask."

"That applies to all of you, really," Paige amended. "I always wanted to have more children after James, but I was already getting up there in years as it was, and the Healers recommended against it. . . . This is almost as fulfilling, though."

_Real family . . ._ Harry pondered the concept for a second. _I've never had it. It's been wonderful knowing James, Lily, Sirius, everyone at this age, but they're more my friends than my parents. We're all on equal footing in the Pack._

_Having real people, family, who care for me like my parents would have, that I get to know because of these circumstances—_

_I'm really thankful Godric sent us back._

_Second chances are nice._

* * *

Peter Pettigrew sighed as his mother pulled up to the suburban house, similar in character to most of the others on its street, that now was home to just the two of them. He hadn't been back for Christmas, or for Easter; all his friends were at Hogwarts, and for the first time he had felt like declining his mother's "I'd love to have you home" in order to stay with them.

_Friendship. Yet another of the things I've come to learn the meaning of this past year._

_After Dad the Death Eater died._

The death had been in late August last year. Thomas Pettigrew was found dead in their living room, the Dark Mark exposed on his forearm, clutching a note written in a reddish ink Peter really didn't want to know the origin of. "Thus always to those who defy the Dark Lord," it had said, and to date no one knew just what he had done to merit death.

_Well, I'm sure some people do, but they're not telling._

_And I was the one who found him,_ Peter remembered. _Mum was out shopping or something . . . Talk about a shock. I mean, he definitely wasn't the greatest dad, but I never would have thought him a Death Eater._

Though in hindsight, he realized he really should've suspected. His father had been becoming more and more distant for years now, ranting occasionally about pureblood superiority, neglecting his job, his family, and his home.

_Still kept the money coming in somehow. Guess now I know how._

"Are you going to come in, dear?" Elaine Pettigrew, Peter's mother, asked him. "You seem lost in thought."

"Sorry, Mum. Yeah, I'll be in in a minute."

"All right." Elaine stood up, got out of the car, and walked inside the house.

_That's my mother for you. Never knows whether to smother me or let me be._

_She guessed right this time, though._

As his thoughts continued to drift, Peter realized just how lucky he was to have the friends he did. _Eleven of them, and we would do anything for each other. More than most people can claim. Definitely more than I would've claimed this time last year._ Friendship, Peter had discovered, went both ways; the Marauders had always helped him out, he doubted he would ever know why, but he'd never really felt any _loyalty_ to them until this past year.

_What did Rachel call it? Oh yeah. A 'fence-sitter', I was being._

_Well, not anymore._

_Funny how one little thing can cause such a large change . . ._

Peter's thoughts were interrupted by the pained meow of something just outside the car. Gingerly, he opened the car door and spied a small kitten covered in pitch-black fur, its yellow eyes wide and mournful. Looking closer, he noticed its front left paw was a bloody mess.

He didn't know why, but Peter felt a strong connection to the injured kitten. It was something it reminded him of . . . he couldn't put his finger on it . . .

_Me,_ he realized. _I've always been the underdog. Without James, Sirius, Remus, everyone really, I'd never have become someone I could be proud of._

_Which I have, despite all expectations._

_So I guess I hold a bit of sympathy for the hurt . . ._

Carefully, Peter stepped out of the car and picked up the cat. It cried for a moment as he jostled its foot, but soon settled into the crook of Peter's arm and fell asleep.

_Maybe I can even do something for it. It's not as if its lot would be any better without me._

_Now if I only could balance this kitten _and _my trunk . . ._

If he had had the free arm to do so, Peter would have slapped himself on the forehead. _Oh. Right. I'm of age._ He checked carefully around for any wandering Muggles, then surreptitiously took out his wand and pointed it at the trunk now standing next to the car. "_Locomotor trunk!_" he muttered. He hadn't really gotten the hang of nonverbal casting yet.

Peter walked in through the open door. He heard pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, and the beginnings of a wonderful smell coming from it. "Welcome home, Peter," she called as his footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Peter shut the front door softly behind him. "Thanks, Mum," he said. "Listen—I found a kitten outside. Its paw is hurt. Could I take care of it? I don't really have much else to do this summer, except homework—"

"Of course, Peter," his mother replied. "As long as you're the one doing the taking care of, I'm fine with it."

"Thanks." Peter walked up the stairs quietly, contemplatively, his trunk still floating behind him. He reached the door to his room, stepped inside, put down his trunk, and lay down on his bed. The kitten blinked sleepily, snuggled into his chest, and looked at him with doleful eyes.

"I need a name for you," he murmured. "Let's see . . ."

"How about Midnight?"

The kitten began to purr.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." Peter smiled. "You know, Midnight, I think I could get used to caring for you. Even though I don't even know what gender you are yet." Peter quickly rectified that problem by gently lifting Midnight above his head. She proved to be female.

Peter sighed, exhausted. _It's strange how tiring it is to come back to a calm environment. There're always three dozen things going on at Hogwarts, and then I get home and it's just—me. And Mum, but she's usually cooking by now. And Dad before he died, but I hardly ever saw him except when he was making some stupid rule for me . . ._

_All that pent-up energy, I guess._

He was tired enough to take a nap, and the kitten purring sleepily by his side made that quite a bit easier, but there was something he wanted to do first.

Peter waved his wand. "_Accio_." Quill, ink, and parchment came over to land on his bedside table. Sitting up slightly, he put the three together and began to write.

_Dear Rachel . . ._

* * *

Rachel Trent sat on her bed in a small house in a small town in Scotland, watching through her window as the sun went down.

_What a year._ She had a sort of tradition by now, of taking at least a few hours to unwind from the stresses of Hogwarts when she got home, but this was the first time she had ever really felt _joy_ at the memories. Content, sure; she had done quite well on her Charms O.W.L. last year, for instance.

But this was the first year she had really had friends.

_It helps to offset the problems, I think._ To this date, Rachel had no idea what had caused the dramatic change in her personality in the wake of her mother's death at the hands of Death Eaters in 1974, during the summer after third year. Gallatea Trent had always been a bit of a scientific with an interest in divination, scrying, and those sorts of things; some of the more uncharitable folk in the village called her a "mad scientist." But she came up with a breakthrough every so often, the Ministry paid good money for it, and the family's daily lives could continue relatively normally.

Rachel's father, Patrick Trent, was a simple-minded, hard-working man. Gallatea hadn't informed him of her magical nature until after their marriage, and though it rather perturbed Patrick at first, within a few days he had accepted it with equanimity. Before the attack, Rachel hadn't been much of an odd child at all; very introverted, to be sure, with not many friends, but Dad could understand her, and he helped her through the trials of life.

_And then it happened._ No one knew why, or how the target had been chosen, but Gallatea was sent a letter hiding a tracking device, and Death Eaters used it to Apparate straight into her room.

* * *

_Fourteen-year-old Rachel leaned against the wall of her room, thinking. She had been doing that a lot lately. Most of the kids she knew seemed to have a lot more fun than she did, and they also seemed to have a lot of friends; maybe the two were connected?_

_Her contemplation was interrupted by a faint sound of a few staccato pops from below, followed shortly by a scream._

_A scream she recognized._

"_MUM!" Rachel bolted out the door to her room; running down to the cellar where her mother kept a laboratory. That was where the noise had come from._

_She reached the top of the stairs leading down and stopped dead in her tracks. Volleys of spell fire were visible heading in multiple directions below; as Rachel looked closer, she saw a few hooded and masked figures and her mother in the center of it all, doing her best to fight them off._

_A stray spell made Rachel shift her weight nervously. The stair creaked, catching the attention of more than one person in the room. A couple of Death Eaters trained their wands on her and said something she couldn't make out. In a flash, though, Rachel's mother had set up a basic shielding ward and started reinforcing it with all her concentration and energy. The spells bounced off—_

—_and headed straight in the direction of one of the many substances her mother had constantly told Rachel never to touch. The red flash illuminated a few words on the label. 'Volatile.' 'Caution.'"_

_One of the Death Eater's eyes widened as he noticed the danger. "Get out!" he yelled, just as a cacophony of sounds rent the air. There were a few Apparation pops amidst an explosion that shattered glass for five feet around. The shards flew and fatally impaled two people._

_One was a Death Eater. The other was her mother._

"_NO!" Rachel yelled as the wards set up a few seconds earlier glowed and began to fade. She ran through them, encountering only slight resistance, and stopped, kneeling, at her mother's side. "No, Mum, you can't be hurt, you just _can't—"

"_I am, sweetheart," Gallatea Trent said weakly, so softly Rachel wasn't sure she had heard right. It must have been a trick of the atmosphere, the stress was getting to her—_

"_Listen . . . to me . . . Rachel . . ." Rachel tried to look her in the eye, but something was blurring her vision. She blinked a few times, and noticed detachedly that the back of her hand was now slightly wet._

"_I'm listening, Mum." She was surprised at how shaky her own voice sounded._

"_It's bad. . . . I won't . . . lie to you, Rachel . . . it's bad. I might not . . . live much longer . . ."_

_There was no doubt as to cause of the blurriness in her eyes now. Rachel wanted to break down sobbing, but she forced herself to remain calm, to hear what her mother had to say._

_Gallatea Trent's eyes brightened, though Rachel couldn't see them, as she spoke with surprising passion. "Listen . . . Rachel, I love you so much. You will . . . do great things, I'm sure . . ."_

"_I hope so. And that you're there to see them," she added fervently. This couldn't be happening, it just _couldn't

"_Maybe not . . . Rachel, the war . . . it's getting bad. In your lifetime . . . you might have to make . . . choices, hard choices . . . you might feel like . . . giving up, sometimes. Don't. Don't _ever _give up." She coughed once, and the blur in Rachel's vision became a little more red. "Because you can suceed," she wheezed. "Because you _will_. Just believe . . . believe in yourself . . ."_

"_I will, Mum. I will," Rachel choked out._

"_That's all . . ." Gallatea Trent's voice drifted off. The sound in the room lessened slightly. With a terrible apprehension, Rachel wiped her eyes so she could see what had happened._

_The image she received confirmed her worst fears._

_She sat there, sobbing, unwilling to move, until her father came home._

* * *

_And I've never been the same since._ Rachel had no idea what had caused it, but ever since the incident, she had noticed things about other people that were hidden to most. Their true loyalties, their motivations, their flaws—the sort of thing one normally discovers only through close friendship, she found herself seeing just by looking at someone.

It was highly, _highly_ disconcerting.

_It's really hard to get close to people when you know exactly how they're likely to hurt you . . ._

In fact, most of the students at Hogwarts, Rachel found, were actually _afraid_ of her. She knew things that "no one should know," and found herself losing the acquaintances she had. Especially in Ravenclaw, where most everything had to be logical and well-substantiated, she was none too well liked.

And thus passed her fourth and fifth years, keeping afloat academically, surviving but certainly not thriving.

_Who knew people could be so _petty?

_Actually knowing pretty much how most people are going to respond to you—negatively—really shreds your confidence._

And the first person Rachel found without such an apparent knee-jerk rejection was Peter Pettigrew.

_Maybe it's only the downtrodden who can ever truly appreciate each other . . ._

She refocused her eyes. An owl was tapping at her window.

"All right, all right, I'll get it," she muttered, standing up and walking over to open the glass pane before the little creature broke right through it. It was a rather small owl.

_And eager in disproportion to its size._ The bird flew in, made three swift circles around Rachel's bedroom, dropped the letter it was carrying on her head, and flew right back out again.

Shutting the window idly, Rachel slitted the envelope open and began to read the parchment inside. She smiled as she noticed the handwriting; it was familiar, and quite welcome . . .

* * *

Dear Rachel,

I just realized this is the first time I've ever written to you. It seems strange; I feel like I know you so well, at least as well as the other Marauders, and yet it's not even been a year since you said "Hi" to me at that D.A. meeting. (But what a year!)

Arrived home just recently. It's weird without Dad around—well, he actually wasn't around so much, I guess it's more the absence of the looming feeling. It's weird period. I know I've changed so much in the past ten months, and the house has hardly changed at all. Mum still cooks when she's feeling gloomy. She's being even more quiet than usual, but I guess she's been coping.

Getting out of the car, I found a little black kitten with a hurt paw meowing at me. I decided to take care of it, keep it if it likes me. (From the way it's purring right now, I'd say that's a big "yes.") Everand is really my mum's owl, not mine, and I really felt a connection with the kitten. I named her Midnight; trust me, you'll know it's appropriate as soon as you see her.

Really, I think I kind of like the idea of helping the helpless. I'm definitely not cut out to be a Healer—blood still makes me a bit queasy, and I don't think I could stand four _more_ years of school—but maybe I'll wind up doing something for injured animals, like Aletha says her mum does. Somehow, I have a feeling you'll understand where I'm coming from, though I'm not sure the rest of the Marauders will.

You know how it feels.

I hope you're doing well there. Remember, if you ever want to Floo over, the address is number thirteen, Scarborough Crescent. My mum's told me I can invite my friends over anytime. I actually think she's worried about me; summers past, I usually tended to be pretty bored . . . I doubt she'd believe me if I told her about the Pack. She still acts as if I'm a kid. I'm not. It's not so bad, really, but— oh, you always know what I'm thinking anyway. :-) Love,

(I'm still amazed by that word,)

Peter

* * *

Rachel smiled as she finished the letter. _I've always known we were meant for each other. This just proves it._

_Thank you, Peter, for seeing the best in me._

Little did she know, Peter's thoughts at the moment echoed her own.

* * *

A few days later, the now-quite-numerous residents of Potter Manor sat down at the (magically enlarged) breakfast table.

"Any luck finding a house yet?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione as he grabbed a few pieces of bread. Ron immediately looked at Hermione. Harry stifled a laugh. **Guess we know who's the responsible one in _their_ relationship,** he remarked mentally.

Ginny smiled across the table at him. **We already did. Lesson one of dealing with Weasleys: Never, _ever_ depend upon the sensibility of my brother, because it may desert him at a moment's notice.**

"Actually, some," Hermione said. "We've decided we want to get a place in a wizarding village—actually, Ron made that decision, and I agree, it would be fascinating. And, well, there aren't all that many of those, but I think I've found a nice place for sale . . ."

Ron's eyes widened. "Where?" he asked, gaping.

"Oh, I thought I'd keep it a surprise." Hermione's tone held a teasing lilt. "I think I'm perfectly justified in assuring myself that you'll love it."

"How do you know?"

"Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Hermione was grinning widely.

"I guess."

"What are you going to name it?" Sirius asked.

Hermione frowned. "Name it? What do you mean?"

"All wizarding houses have a name," James explained. "Well, most do, anyway. It's for Flooing and stuff like that, plus it's pretty traditional. Like how this is 'Potter Manor', except you're expected to be a lot more creative than that."

"Or 'The Burrow'," Ron said.

"My family's is 'The Cottage'," contributed Remus, "though we usually just use the address for Flooing. No idea how it turned out that no one else chose that name. I don't think we ever filed the name papers with the Ministry, actually. Ever since—well, you know—my folks haven't liked them too much."

Hermione smiled bemusedly. "There is so much I still don't know about wizarding culture . . . All right, a name." She closed her eyes and thought for a few seconds. "I can't think of anything that doesn't sound utterly ridiculous. Anyone else, ideas?"

Silence reigned for about ten seconds. "How about Lions' Lair?" Ginny asked suddenly.

"Lions' Lair . . ." Hermione tested the name. "I like it. Seems to fit; we really are all Gryffindors, after all. And one other thing: The house is pretty big. Enough room for four." She looked at Harry and Ginny meaningfully.

"Enough room for—huh?" Harry said.

"Merlin, you've been distracted lately, mate." Ron shook his head slightly. "She means you and Ginny could live with us, if you want."

Dead silence.

"If there were flies indoors, you'd be catching them," Danger said lightly.

"Well?" asked Hermione impatiently. "What do you think?"

"I—" **Thoughts?**

**You already know what I'm going to say.**

**True, that.** "I really like that idea, actually, though I'm sure I never would've come up with it on my own."

"So do I," Ginny said. "Harry and I are almost as close to you two as we are to each other—in different ways, obviously—and I think it would do us all some good."

"That's great!" Hermione grinned excitedly. "And I'm sure you'll like the location just as much as Ron, Ginny."

"Ever since that troll," said Ron. "There's no way _any_ of us could ever have had a normal life. Good, meaningful, sure, but never normal."

"What's this about a troll?" Charles Potter asked. "Another one of your infernal adventures?"

Hermione laughed. "Oh, this one's the first of them all. Halloween of our first year, 1991 . . ."

* * *

Ron pushed his chair away from the breakfast table and stretched. "Anyone for a game of Quidditch?" he asked eagerly. James, Sirius, and Ginny instantly gave their assent, smiling.

"Who'll play Seeker, though?" Sirius asked.

The three time-travelers turned to look at Harry, apparently now noticing the conspicuous absence in the cacophony of responses.

**You don't want to play?** Ginny asked Harry incredulously through their mental link.

**I don't have time to, Gin! Between Voldemort, my job for next year, . . . I'd love to, but I just can't.**

Ginny's expression turned stony. "Excuse me," she said shortly. "Harry and I need to discuss something in private." She stood up and walked briskly toward the unused bedroom upstairs. Harry followed her silently.

Still keeping her features carefully schooled, Ginny walked into the bedroom, waited for Harry to follow her in, then closed the door delicately. She covered the distance between them in two steps, and before Harry could react, kissed him.

Very thoroughly.

A minute or so later, Harry's mouth reappeared, this time formed into a smile. "I guess I needed that," he said, a bit sheepishly.

"I guess you did," Ginny agreed. Her voice dropped slightly. "Now remind me. What is the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?"

"Love," Harry said without thinking. "Or—"

Ginny cut him off. "Thank you, that's all I need to hear. Now, in light of that, do you really think you're approaching this in the most sensible way?"

"Well . . . okay, I guess not. But—"

"No buts. You're not going to defeat Voldemort by throwing yourself into your work so much that you shut out your friends." Ginny grabbed Harry's right hand and moved it to rest on her breastbone, pressing against the pendants they all wore. "Remember these?"

"How could I forget? We swore the oath, we're Pack—"

"And what, exactly, do you think that means?"

Harry didn't even have to think before he answered. "We help each other out," he said firmly. "We're in this together." Then he realized what he was saying, and how it connected to his current situation, and he blushed a bit in embarrassment.

"Don't you see?" Ginny asked softly. "It's great that you're so determined. We need that—_some_ of it. But you can't burn yourself out." She paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to best explain herself. "If all your friends left you alone until you beat Voldemort, like I'm sure you wanted us to at some point, do you honestly think you could win?"

"Well—"

"Harry, Voldemort is one of the most powerful wizards alive. He has had ages to hone his skills. You, alone, against him _and_ his Death Eaters—there's no _way_ you would win."

"So what do I do, then?" Harry asked worriedly.

"You let us help you!" Ginny responded instantly. "Voldemort knows nothing about friendship, about love. His Death Eaters are just servants. They're bound by _fear_. Their individuals might be stronger than ours, but their bonds are much weaker—I have a feeling there are elements to this Pack-bond we know nothing about. Remind me of your thoughts last den-night again?"

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "You heard that?"

"How could I not? It's one of the most uplifting moods I think you've ever been in. Here, I'll remind _you_. 'By living, I defy you. And I'm going to live.' Harry, answer me this. If every element of your life is dictated by him, do you honestly think that's really living?"

The two were silent for a long while. "No," Harry said finally. "You're right; it's not. I've been a bit of an idiot, haven't I?"

Ginny beamed at him. "Only a bit. And at least you recognize your idiocy now, with minimal prompting. I don't think I could handle another repeat of fifth year."

"Don't remind me," Harry groaned. "That Umbridge woman . . . So yeah, I'll do my best to forget about Voldemort and the Horcruxes, at least for a little bit." His expression brightened considerably. "Now what was this about a game of Quidditch?"

"That's what I was looking for!" Ginny said, laughing. "Come on, let's go!"

The two raced back to the kitchen, hand in hand. "Introducing Seeker Harry James Potter!" Ginny announced gallantly.

"Great," said Ron. "So we've got five people—two Chasers, a Beater, a Keeper, and a Seeker. How do we want to divide up the teams? Maybe you and Ginny can be one team, Harry, since you're so good at catching the Snitch, which leaves the three of us . . . I think that'll work."

"The Old versus The New?" Harry suggested with a wicked grin.

"Hey! I'm not old!" Ron protested indignantly.

"You're engaged to be married, Ron," Sirius pointed out. "Compared to most of us, that's ancient."

"I guess." Ron sighed. "Well, get your brooms and let's get out there!"

As three blurs raced off in different directions, James hung back. "Er— Harry?"

"Yeah, James?" Harry turned to look at him; the slightly younger boy was fidgeting nervously, wringing his hands together. "What's wrong?"

"Um . . . are you sure you want me to play?"

"Of course! Why do you even need to ask? Especially ask _me_, of all people? You played great in the Gryffindor games last year, and heck, we're at your house!"

"Well, I mean, most people don't like to play Quidditch against their dads. I know I don't." James tried to smile but failed miserably.

Harry sighed and gave James a doleful look. "Oh." He was barely restraining himself from laughing. "Is _that_ what's been bothering you?"

"What do you mean?"

"James, the past few days you've been a lot more distant from me. Acting like—well, like you'd expect a parent to act, I guess. Am I right or not?"

"I guess I have been trying to be more—well, you know—"

Harry looked James in the eye. "Listen. I lost my parents at a very young age. _I don't remember them._ Apart from photos, and whatever memories the Dementors dredge up . . . I have no memories of how you acted towards me, or what you were to me, except a general sense that you loved me greatly. So you don't need to worry about acting the same as you might be acting twenty years from now, because I'm definitely not judging you based on that."

"What do you mean?"

"I would have loved to have had a father I knew, definitely, but don't try to be someone you're not. You're still in school, James. You're not married, you don't have any kids, your life still has a lot of changing to do. I don't need a parent, really. I'm somewhat used to living without one. I just need a friend."

James sighed. "Sorry."

"Sorry? There's nothing to be sorry about," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Let's just call this a small misunderstanding." He grinned. "Now, ready to try and trounce me at Quidditch?"

"You bet!"

The teams were assembled: James, Sirius, and Ron ("the Old") versus Harry and Ginny ("the New"). Charles Potter amused everyone with his dry commentary.

"And the players have taken off. The Snitch is released. The Bludger is released. Yes, this game is being played with only one Bludger. We have no Healer on site, after all, and only one skilled Beater on the field. The Quaffle is taken by Ginny Weasley, who rockets off, passes it to herself, herself, and—yes, folks, that looks like herself _again_—and fires it past her brother for the score! New 10, Old 0. . . ."

". . . And is that the Snitch? Old leading, folks, 70 to 30, as both Harry and Ginny make an abrupt change of course. They're turning—flying straight _towards_ each other now—what is this, a mid-air high five? James rushes in to intercept the tiny ball, but too late—Harry and Ginny have pinned it between their hands! POTTERS WIN!"

Laughing, the impromptu teams descended to the ground, feeling much more relaxed and at ease.

"That was a great idea, Ron," Harry said gratefully. "We needed that. Thanks, mate."

"Oh, you'll never have trouble getting this lout to play Quidditch," Hermione said affectionately. (She had come out to the pitch to watch the game.)

"Or this one," said Danger, pointing to Sirius.

"Hey! I'm not a lout!"

"Sorry," Danger said with mock contrition. "I meant 'mangy mutt'." She grinned.

The slight incongruity of Mr. Potter's last couple words went unnoticed.

* * *

(A/N: Well, here we go. The sequel to "The Twist of Time," in all its glory.

I'm writing this for NaNoWriMo 2006, so expect _very_ frequent updates for the next month. This will be about my average chapter length from now on; ToT chapters were just getting far too long, so I picked a more manageable size.

If you read it, and you're not completely indifferent to it, please review. Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Got it? (And yes, that particular bunch of sentences was lifted from an A/N by MercuryBlue144.)

Here's to _Variations_; may it be even better than its prequel!)


	2. Beginnings

**Chapter 2: Beginnings**.

"I got the house!" Hermione announced excitedly at breakfast the next week.

Ron dropped his fork and gazed at her in ecstatic surprise. "You did? Where? Hermione, you're brilliant, you know that?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, didn't I say it's a surprise?, and thank you, respectively. Would you like to go after breakfast?"

"Yes! I'd love to!" Ron pumped his fist in the air.

"Do you all want to come to?" Hermione asked politely.

**Thoughts, Ginny?** Harry asked mentally.

**This is really theirs,** Ginny responded. **Next time, I definitely want to see it, but today should be for them and them alone.**

Harry relayed the message.

"All right," Hermione said, but it was apparent she was slightly relieved. "We'll invite you over as soon as we can."

Meanwhile, Ron was eating. And eating. And eating.

_I doubt I've ever seen him eat so fast,_ Hermione thought with a suppressed grin. _And with Ron, that's saying something._

After breakfast, Ron practically ran to the gates of the Manor, past the anti-Apparation wards. Hermione followed him as close behind as she could. She was feeling almost as enthusiastic about this as he was, but the enthusiasm couldn't help but be tinged with a bit of anxiety. _What if he doesn't like it? What if I make an utter flop of my job and can't pay for it?_

_What if, what if, what if,_ Hermione thought back to herself, in a voice sounding suspiciously like Ron's. _Who cares? Of course he'll like it, and in any event, there's no use worrying about it. Don't create problems that don't exist, Hermione._

Hermione skidded to a halt; Ron had stopped just outside the gates. She turned to face him and smiled that special smile she reserved only for Ronald Weasley. "Ready?" she asked with an impish grin.

"Ready! Where are we Apparating to?"

"Now, do you honestly think I'd tell you that yet?" Hermione asked coyly. "You're coming Side-Along with me."

_Destination. Determination. Deliberation._

_Crack!_ _Squeeze . . ._ _Pop!_

"You can open your eyes now, Ron."

He did so, and smiled widely in astonished delight as he took in the room. They were in an informal living room of sorts, furnished with wood flooring and comfortable-looking but unremarkable sofas and chairs. A nicely sized stone fireplace was evidently the provider of Floo access, and a large rectangular opening with no door attached connected the room to the rest of the house.

It didn't have the homey atmosphere yet. It wasn't all that furnished, save for the necessities.

But it was _theirs_.

"Hermione, you're brilliant," Ron breathed. "I love you. Thank you so, so much."

And for quite some time, the two found themselves engaged in activities for which the surroundings made not one iota of difference.

"Want to see the rest of it?" Hermione asked, rather breathlessly.

"I'd love to."

So Hermione showed a grinning Ron the kitchen, dining room, bedrooms, even the bathrooms. In the last bedroom they saw, the one to the most northeastern end of the house, Hermione sat down on the bed. "I think this one should be ours."

"Why? Because it's the only one that actually has both a bedframe and a mattress in it?" Ron teased.

"Oh, shush. You know it's not completely furnished yet. But actually, there's a much better reason. Look out the window."

Ron did, peeking through the curtains, and after focusing his eyes for a second, gasped. "Hermione— that's—"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," Ron said fervently. "I love it, I love it, I love it! It's perfect. You were right."

"And what do you think the Weasleys will make of our last name?"

Ron shrugged, though he smiled inwardly at her use of the word _our_. "We can't exactly hide it. Guess we'll just have to tell them. Somehow, I don't think it'll be all that much of a problem. I remember how much Mum used to wish there was another wizarding family with same-aged kids around us . . ."

"Odd, isn't it? You'll see your own counterpart grow up?"

"But fulfilling, I think." Ron sighed. "I really wasn't all that happy a kid before I got to Hogwarts, you know. Five older brothers and no magical kids my age in the area can do that to you. We're already changing things a lot."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," Hermione affirmed. "Now? Do you insist upon informing the residents of Potter Manor immediately, or do you want to have some fun first?" She fluttered her eyelashes suggestively.

"Option two, definitely!"

The curtains fell shut, unheeded.

* * *

Harry and Ginny were delighted to hear that Lions' Lair was actually just outside Ottery St. Catchpole.

**That really was perfect of Hermione, to find it there. And you'll get to tower over all your brothers . . .**

**Yes!** Ginny giggled. **You can't imagine how odd that's going to feel. Percy as a toddler, honestly!**

**Maybe he'll turn into someone better this time.**

The next weeks passed in contented chaos. After a short interview that more than demonstrated more than the requisite talent, Hermione started her job in the Department of Experimental Charms, working a relatively normal schedule for a subject that was anything but.

"It's amazing how different things are in this time," she said one day. "They actually spent weeks looking for a direction-indicating spell, honestly! I showed them _Point Me_ and they just sort of gaped at me."

Ron, meanwhile, was doing his best to make the house fit for habitation. Furniture was purchased and Transfigured, mattresses were procured, and the bookshelves in the master bedroom continued to balloon in size. After some initial gaffes—for instance, the fact that an "air mattress" was _not_ just a mattress priced very affordably—he proved to be surprisingly adept at the task.

Until, finally, came Moving-In Day.

"Thank you so much for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Potter," Hermione said sincerely as two-thirds of the Pack stood in the living room of Potter Manor, four of them clutching Shrinking Charmed trunks. "We honestly didn't have anywhere else to go for a while there."

Paige waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, it was nothing at all. You were a pleasure to have, truly. And remember, anything you need—_anything_—you need but ask."

Hermione smiled. "I will."

"And Harry?" Charles Potter spoke up; Harry looked at him inquisitively. "You have family here who care about you and will support you in whatever you do. Even from what little of you I've seen over the past couple weeks, I can tell you're going to be making a difference in the world. You moreso than most, probably. I wish you luck in all your endeavors."

"Thanks, Grandpa." Harry moved to shake Charles's hand, but the elder man shifted slightly, and they found themselves hugging.

"And now we're off!" Ginny exclaimed, laughing. "Thank you again, everyone, and don't worry, we'll remember to visit!"

Ron turned toward the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo Powder. He stepped into the now-green flames, shouted, "The Lions' Lair!" and was whisked away in a whirlwind of hot air.

Hermione followed him, then Ginny, then Harry.

"The Lions' Lair!"

He emerged on the other end coughing, spluttering, and on the ground, but at least he had hit the right fireplace this time.

Ginny was grinning down at him as soon as he got his eyes open. **Little trouble, love?**

"Oh, shush," Harry mumbled, then looked around as he got to his feet. "Ron, this is great!"

"It is, isn't it?" Hermione said proudly. The room _did_ feel rather cozy; though Harry didn't know it, it had changed dramatically since Hermione bought the house. The walls were done in faded red, with trim in light yellow.

"Hermione wouldn't let me do real Gryffindor colors here," Ron explained. "But I did get to for the bedrooms."

"And the library in Ravenclaw blue and bronze," Hermione added. The bookshelves in the master bedroom were overflowing with books by the time Hermione had finished adding her collection, and it was decided to use the one empty room on the first floor as a sort of library. That room had been all Hermione's work.

"It looks great, you guys," Harry said with a grin. "Really, this is amazing! Which bedrooms do you want us to use?"

Ron showed them upstairs. "You and Ginny can take these two," he said, pointing out two doors right next to each other. He opened them, and Gryffindor colors shone through. "Me and Hermione are at the room at the end of the hall. And, well—" Ron seemed to falter for a bit, then regained his composure. "This bond thing makes you and Ginny as good as married, I guess. So if you want to share a room—"

Harry spluttered and blushed madly. "Er— I—"

**It's actually not such a bad idea, love,** said a voice in his mind.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

Ginny, meanwhile, grinned coyly. "Why, thank you for being so understanding, Ron."

Harry's face turned, if possible, even redder. He looked completely lost, eyes darting around as if in search of an escape route.

"You're doomed, Harry," Hermione noted lightly. "Once a Weasley gets his or her mind set on something, there's nothing that's going to change it. I speak from experience, of course."

_This is definitely the most embarrassed I've ever been._

**Would you like me to rectify that?**

**By embarrassing me more? No, thanks.**

**Hey, it got your mind off Voldemort!**

Grumbling under his breath, Harry hoisted his trunk and walked through the door on the left. Ginny followed him right in with her own and shut the door.

"All right, all right, you win," Harry said, cracking a smile. "Now, were you really serious, or were you just saying that to rile up Ron?"

"Serious."

Harry choked on air.

Ginny smiled brilliantly at him. "Harry, you love me, I love you, and we're already bonded for life. You didn't have any problems with this state of affairs until I took it to its logical conclusion. Obviously, I wasn't going to say anything at Potter Manor, but now that we're living independently, don't you think it makes sense?"

"I don't have a problem with it," Harry said quickly, doing his best to regain his composure. "I just—well—I don't want to be a dad before the war is over," he stammered. "_Definitely_ not before you're out of school."

"And you didn't think witches might have come up with ways around that?"

"Well—no."

"News flash, Harry," Ginny said softly. "They have. Although, come to think of it, considering the size of my family I'm not sure my mum ever knew about them . . ."

Harry laughed and grinned bashfully. "All right, you win. Let's get unpacked."

A few minutes later, the two rejoined Ron and Hermione in the living room.

"The two of you get everything resolved?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"Yep. Ginny won, as always."

Ron looked out the window. "I think now might be a good time to introduce ourselves to the Weasleys," he said. "It's the polite thing to do, and if they take issue to our last name, the answers would be better coming from us than from others. Especially if they start asking other people about us . . ."

"Agreed," said Hermione. "Shall we go now?"

"You want us to come too?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes. Quite honestly, I think it would be easier for the Weasleys if they get all the shocks at once."

Ginny shrugged. "Fair enough. Apparate to the front steps of the Burrow?"

Ron nodded. "Let's go."

_Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!_

* * *

"Charlie, don't you want some lunch?"

Molly Weasley stared at her four-year-old son exasperatedly. Bill had gone through a period like this too, "not liking" practically any food she might suggest, even those he had never tried, but for him, it had at least been long over by age four.

"No." The redheaded toddler shook his head fiercely. "Don' want any. Want ice cream."

_I should never have allowed Arthur to take him to Florean Fortescue's that day . . ._

"Charlie, you have to—"

She was interrupted by a sound not often heard at the Burrow. _Knock. Knock._

_What might it be this time? We don't know anyone who wouldn't just Floo in._

"Charlie, stay here, please. Mummy needs to do something."

It took maybe ten seconds for her to get to the door. "What is it?" she asked distractedly.

Then her gaze took in the four unfamiliar young adults standing on her front steps, two of which looked suspiciously as if they were related to her own family, and she frowned. "Excuse me, but who are you?"

"We just moved in at the vacant house on the outskirts of town," the tallest one said. He had red hair, and looked almost like she imagined Bill grown up might be. "I don't think it had a name before . . . in any event, it's The Lions' Lair now. We're all magical, by the way."

_Well, that's a relief. At least they won't be bothered by everything going on in our house. Or by how it stands itself up, if Arthur's stories about Muggle architecture are true._

The bushy brown-haired girl stepped forward. "Please excuse him, he forgets his manners sometimes. I'm Hermione Granger soon-to-be Granger-Weasley, this is Ron Weasley, this," she indicated the other two, "is his sister, Ginny Weasley soon-to-be Potter, and this is Harry Potter. We're very pleased to meet you." She shook Molly's offered hand firmly.

_Something is not right here._

The Weasley matriarch looked rather flummoxed. "Er . . . perhaps you'd like to step inside for a spot of tea, dears? I have a feeling you might wish to discuss some things with me?"

"That would be wonderful, Mu– Mrs. Weasley," Ginny said, correcting herself almost too late.

_That sounded like 'Mum'. Something is _definitely _not right here._

"Well, come in, come in, then. No point having you sweltering in this heat all day." Molly walked briskly through the Burrow to the living room. "Here, sit down, and I'll be right back with the tea."

As she busied herself gathering water, teabags, teacups, and charming the lot to produce a drinkable result, Molly Weasley couldn't help but be suspicious of the newcomers. _Arthur and I always said that if we ever managed to have a girl, we'd name her Ginevra. They share the last name, they look a lot like us—and by all rights, they shouldn't have been born yet._

Molly returned to the living room, tea tray in hand. She waved her wand idly and cups flew to each of the newcomers. "I believe an explanation is overdue," she said sternly.

Harry shrugged and took a sip of tea. "I guess you're right, Mrs. Weasley. Short version: All four of us were born between 1979 and 1981, and we got thrown back in time during an attack on the Burrow on Ginny's birthday in 1997. Ron and Ginny are your children; I was close to your family because my parents had died on Halloween 1981 and my remaining relatives rather hated me; and Hermione stayed here some summers."

Molly was quite a welcoming person by nature, but this war had changed everyone. She recalled the words of her brothers, Fabian and Gideon, who had chosen to become Aurors: "_If you don't know them, no matter how convincing their story seems, don't trust them until they've offered some sort of proof that they are who they say they are. Death Eaters are the most conniving little bastards you'll ever meet. Or won't meet, as I hope the case will be for you."_ And time travel? How ridiculous . . .

She narrowed her eyes. "That is absolutely unbelievable. I simply cannot believe you would sink to such depths, whoever you are, to gain my sympathy." She stood abruptly. "Out! Out of my house, and never come near my family again!" All four time-travelers looked terribly stricken, and Ginny was on the verge of tears.

A thought wormed its way into Molly's mind amidst the righteous anger. _But what if they're telling the truth? Would you really so reject your own famiy?_ "Unless you can prove you are who you say you are," she added grudgingly.

Ginny's eyes lit up. "Bill is now six years old. Charlie is four. Percy is one. Unless we've changed something, Fred and George, twins, will be born on April 1, 1978. Your birthday is October 30. Dad's is February 6. He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in the Ministry. Is that enough?"

Molly let out a deep, shaky sigh. "Yes, yes, I think I believe you now. I'm terribly sorry I treated you so badly, but it really is quite an incredible story, and you know how times are . . . April 1 of next year, you say? Today's July 13. I wonder . . ." She took out her wand and waved it. "_Revelare Ventris!_" A small sphere of golden mist formed.

She blew on it. It turned blue.

"Well." Molly laughed. "Well. I suppose that's better proof than any I could ask for. I'll have to tell Arthur tonight, I guess . . . Now, what were things like in your reality? How did you meet each other? Are the four of you good friends? I'd love to know." Her expression had morphed almost instantaneously into a much more welcoming one.

Harry smiled. "Yes, we're excellent friends. Me, Ron, and Hermione were pretty much inseparable through Hogwarts. Ginny and Hermione are close too, I'm pretty sure—that's girl stuff, don't ask me for details—" Ginny and Hermione laughed— "and I've been madly in love with Ginny for over a year now."

Molly frowned. "Only a year? Don't you think that's a bit soon to be getting married? Ron and Hermione I guess I can understand, if you've known each other as long as you say, but still, especially at your age . . . And aren't you still in Hogwarts?"

"No, I don't think it's too soon," Ginny said firmly. "But in any case, we're not going to get married for another year. Because yes, I am still in Hogwarts—I'm a year younger than the other three, and I'll be starting my seventh year in September. Honestly, though, Mum—is it okay if I call you that?—"

"Absolutely, dear," Molly said with a maternal smile.

"Well, honestly, we're not exactly ordinary teenagers. We've been through battles with Death Eaters, capture by the same, Harry's actually faced Voldemort—"

Molly, who had been growing increasingly horrified as Ginny spoke, gave a slight squeal. "Please don't say the name," she whispered.

Ginny shrugged. "Fine, I'll call him Lord Snakeface then." The other time-travelers laughed. "Anyway, all of us are currently involved in plans to defeat Lord Snakeface—" more snickers— "and, well, we've had to grow up fast. So no, I don't think we're too young."

_My God, what will this world be like in twenty years?_

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, worried.

"No, no, I'm quite all right," Molly said. "It's just a lot to take in at once. Are things very bad where— I'm sorry, when— you came from?"

"Not really," Ron said, "not until 1995, at least. Voldemort got disembodied in 1981, the same night Harry's parents died, and it took that long for him to get a body back."

_That's a relief._

"Well, let's discuss something more pleasant, then. Ginny, dear? When did you first meet Harry?"

Ginny smiled. "Well, let's see. It was September 1, 1991, and everyone was heading off to Hogwarts, except me . . ."

A few minutes into their story, a child's voice spoke up. "Mummy, who's Lord Snakeface?" asked Bill. He and Charlie had been listening by the entryway to the living room the whole time.

The time-travelers grimaced and looked at each other. "You explain," they all said simultaneously.

* * *

Lily Evans collapsed onto her bed, laughing.

_They deserve each other. The horse and the hippo, and the whale of a son they're going to have._

She had just returned from the wedding of Petunia and Vernon Dursley—a highly unpleasant experience for all involved, but her mother had insisted she come. "It'll be good for the family," she had said. "Get to work healing this rift we've managed to make for ourselves."

Lily, for her part, had a feeling the rift had only been made worse.

_Honestly, the way he behaved—as soon as he found out I was Petunia's sister, he acted as if I was contaminated or something . . ._

_Though I suppose that might've been Petunia's influence. She's always going on about how 'freaky' I am, and she was glaring at me all through the ceremony._

She shrugged. _Who bloody cares? I've got James, the Pack, and my son from the future, and we're making a difference. That's enough for me._

An owl rapped on the window. Lily stood up, walked over, and unlatched it; the magnificent snowy-white bird swooped in and proferred its left leg for her to untie the letter. She did so, and the bird waited patiently for a response.

_What a pretty owl. I don't think I've ever seen one that color before . . ._

Sitting back down on her bed, Lily slit open the envelope and read the parchment within.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_How have your holidays been so far? Ron and Hermione have just moved into their new house—the Floo address is 'The Lions' Lair'—and guess what? They invited me and Ginny to live with them too! It's great that we won't have to be separated from them after Hogwarts. We really have been through everything together._

_Anyway, I'm writing to invite you to join us for den-night on the 30th of the month. The whole Pack will be there, if we can manage it, and I think we'll have a lot of fun. I know you and James haven't seen each other all summer, or Sirius and Aletha . . . I keep wondering when the day will come that they stop arguing and start snogging, honestly._

_So we'd love to have you on the 30th, or any time before then if you can get access to a method of transportation. The house is in Ottery St. Catchpole, near 'The Burrow' where Ron and Ginny's family lives; Molly and Arthur Weasley have now become the eighth and ninth adults, respectively, to know the truth of our situation. (Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, the Potters, and the Lupins are the others—and yes, I probably am being rather paranoid about this.)_

_Feel free to send a reply with Hedwig. She's a very smart owl; she'll probably wait for you._

_Best wishes,_

—_Harry_

_P.S. Might you happen to have any more of that Animagus potion on hand? I've finished my head transfiguration, and now I just need to write my final incantation._

* * *

_Why didn't he just use the mirror?_ Lily wondered.

_Probably didn't think of it. Boys._

"Sorry, Hedwig, I don't have any reply for you." The snowy owl nodded dolefully, then took off and swooped gracefully through the open window.

_What a pretty owl indeed. Harry's lucky to have her._

Lily took out the enchanted mirror Harry had given her for Christmas from under her bed, and spoke clearly to it: "Harry Potter." The surface filled with murky black, and a few seconds later, resolved to show Harry's face.

"Lily! I can't believe I forgot about these. Sorry. How's your summer been?"

"Great, thanks. Just Petunia's darn wedding today . . ."

Harry groaned. "She's already married that oaf? I can imagine. So, do you have any of that Animagus potion on hand?"

Lily smiled. "Why, yes, I do. I thought to bring some, just in case. It needs one more ingredient, though, I'll have to finish the brew at your place . . . you have a basic Potions supply kit, right?"

"Of course. And thanks for thinking of that!"

"No problem. So I'll try to come over in a few days, if I can manage to escape my parents, and I'll be there on the night of the 30th for sure."

"Perfect. See you then. Mischief managed."

Harry's face faded from the mirror.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk at Hogwarts, sighed, deep in thought.

_I believe it is inescapable. The Ministry is simply not doing enough to combat Voldemort's forces; the Aurors are well-equipped to deal with rogue Dark wizards, but not with a Dark army._

_And it's looking unpleasantly like such a Dark army is exactly what we have to worry about._ News of dementor attacks had increased, as had a few reports of activity by the giants; it was only a matter of time, Dumbledore suspected, before the feral werewolves joined the mix. _Which will only hurt people like Remus . . . It's no wonder Voldemort has so much success with 'Dark creatures', honestly. Most wizards hate them._

_So if the Ministry's efforts are insufficient, they must be augmented. And I, as de facto leader of the Light, am in a unique position to do that._

"What say you, Fawkes?" he asked mournfully, turning to stroke the plumage of the brilliantly red-and-gold colored phoenix. "What can we do?"

In answer, Fawkes flew to the middle of the room and glowed with a faint tinge of flame as he began to sing more passionately than Dumbledore had ever heard him. And, to his surprise, the old Headmaster found that he understood the phoenix's meaning perfectly.

_The Twelfth Order must be called._

And, on the heels of that message, a jumble of names: _Minerva McGonagall. Severus Snape. Charles and Paige Potter. Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Edgar Bones. Frank and Alice Longbottom._ All the Pack. _Alastor Moody. Arabella Figg. Dedalus Diggle. Arthur Weasley. Benjy Fenwick. . . ._ The list continued on.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. _Well, I guess I now know what Harry was referring to when he spoke of the "Order of the Phoenix" during his recounting of the events of his fifth year. It pains me to take such risky, active measures, but I do feel they have become necessary._

Fawkes glided back to his perch and alighted upon it, looking no different than he had a minute before. He gave Dumbledore a questioning glance, as if to say, _What, did I do something?_

"No, nothing, Fawkes. You merely furnished me with some sorely needed advice."

Fawkes let out one soft note, then fell silent.

"Would you care to take me there now?"

The red-feathered head bobbed yes.

"Excellent. Thank you, Fawkes." Dumbledore stood up and grabbed the tail feather Fawkes offered; there was a flash of flame, and soon the Headmaster's Office was empty save for the snoring portraits and whirring silver instruments.

* * *

Headmaster and phoenix reappeared in the living room of the Lions' Lair. Harry and Ginny, sitting on one of the couches, noticed the arrival immediately and stood to greet them. "Hello, Professor," Harry said.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore responded genially. "And you are quite free to call me Albus, especially considering your employment for the next year."

"Thank you, Pr– er, Albus," Harry said. He shook his head bemusedly. "It feels so weird calling you that."

"Nevertheless. . . . Are Ron and Hermione here, by any chance? I believe what I have to say would be of interest to all of you."

As if on cue, Hermione chose that moment to come down the stairs, Ron and Lily in tow, the last carrying a steaming goblet. "It's done, Har— oh, hello, Professor!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he sniffed the air. "Do I wish to know what potion that is, Lily?"

Lily's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected use of her first name, but she kept her calm. "No, Professor, I don't think you do."

"Congratulations on the accomplishment, in any event. I originally came to talk to the four of you who reside here, but Lily, this concerns you as well, so we may as well make ourselves comfortable." He paused for a few seconds as Ron, Hermione, and Lily sat on the other sofa in the room. "Very well. Now, have any of you heard of a group called the Order of the Phoenix?"

He received five nods in response. Lily's was a bit unsure. "Harry's mentioned it in passing, but I don't really know that much about it . . ."

Dumbledore chuckled. "If I receive this response everywhere, it will be slightly worrisome, considering that the group in question does not yet exist. The Order is a set of people I am organizing who wish to make a stand against Lord Voldemort's advances. The Ministry has proven itself incapable of mustering the necessary strength alone . . . I would continue, but by your facial expressions you have already accepted my offer."

"What offer, Professor?" Lily asked, puzzled.

"I would like to invite you to join the Order of the Phoenix as founding members."

Five gasps. Five shocked grins. One set of twinkling eyes.

"You do understand the risks involved, do you not?" Dumbledore asked seriously, facing somewhat in Lily's direction. "Lord Voldemort is ruthless in his methods, and there is a not insignificant chance that your activities within this group may have terrible consequences for yourselves or others. This is war, you understand. People may be hurt, or killed . . . I hesitate greatly to even consider anyone still in school for such a role, but Fawkes suggested it, and I know that all the Pack holds skill and maturity beyond their years. So I ask you, all of you: do you accept?"

Lily smiled. "I accept. Thank you, Professor."

"I accept," said Ginny.

"I accept." Ron's voice was firm, with none of its frequent light-heartedness.

"I accept." Hermione spoke somberly, fixing Dumbledore with a knowing gaze.

Harry was the last to speak. "I accept," he said with finality, seeming to put all of his hatred for Voldemort and his desire to end the war into two simple words.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "Excellent. I thank you, all of you. I know it is no easy decision to make. Our first meeting will most likely be in a few days, in a room off my office at Hogwarts; the Floo address is 'Headmaster's Chambers, Hogwarts'. The room is restricted-access; you, Harry, will have no issues with entrance due to your status as a blood Heir, but all other entrants must be specifically indicated. May I do so now?"

"Sure, Professor," Ron said easily. Dumbledore stood and walked to each of the four in turn, tapping their heads with his wand and murmuring a phrase in Latin. "And the same applies to all of you as I said to Harry earlier: you are quite free to call me Albus, at least when doing so would not arouse suspicion. Yes, even you, Lily and Ginny."

Harry's eyes lit up in sudden worry. "Pr– Albus? If blood Heirs can get in, wouldn't that mean Voldemort could?"

Dumbledore sat back down as he finished his ministrations and sighed. "No, Harry. Not all blood descendants of the Founders, not all those with their gifts, are considered blood Heirs for the purposes of such magic. Tom Riddle, through the evil and destruction he wrought on the world and on himself, is no longer eligible for the title. Also, the magic is dependent upon a legitimate tie to the school, one which all of you hold, and which all former students loyal to Hogwarts hold, but which Tom certainly does not. Does that answer your question satisfactorily?"

"Quite, Albus. Thank you."

"No, thank you." Dumbledore stood in one fluid motion. "Fawkes will give you a signal of sorts the day of our first meeting. And now, I must be off, to tender the residents of Potter Manor with the same offer I gave you. Good day to you all."

In a flash of flame, the man and the phoenix again disappeared.

* * *

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and all conversation in the spacious room immediately quieted. He looked around, surveying the maybe two dozen people sitting around him with mild curiosity. _So different, all of us. No human could have handpicked this group. Not even I._

_And yet every single person Fawkes named was interested in what I had to say. Not all accepted, of course—phoenixes fail spectacularly when it comes to figuring out real life—but all were interested._

_I never would have guessed there were so many good people in our world. Perhaps current circumstances are causing me to be a bit jaded . . ._

Fawkes crooned softly, bringing Dumbledore's attention back to the matter at hand. "Welcome to the first meeting of the Twelfth Order of the Phoenix," he said.

Dead silence.

_Well, I suppose a bit of explanation is in order. These people hardly know what to expect, after all._

"Historically, during times of great strife in the wizarding world, a phoenix has, shall we say, 'recommended' to its companion a means of bringing together people to combat the strife. No one truly knows how such magic works; indeed, there is nothing written about past Orders, because such groups tend to be quite secret in nature. And, obviously, nothing is infallible. But it is such a group which I have called tonight.

"I must say that it heartens me more than you can know that so many of you are willing to choose what is right over what is easy in this case. War is upon us. I will not downplay the danger involved here." (Dumbledore's vague surface Legilimency picked up that something was highly amusing to a few Order members at this point, but thankfully the people involved, whoever they were, did not disrupt his very solemn words by laughing.) "Some of you may be hurt. Some may be killed. Considering the size of this group, I would consider it more likely than not." He paused for a few seconds, noticing slight fear in the minds of a few, waiting as determination grew to drown it out. "If any of you should wish to leave at this point, I certainly will not hold it against you."

No one spoke. No one moved.

"Then please, each in turn approach Fawkes and do as I will." The wise Headmaster turned to face his phoenix, lifted his right hand, and spoke clearly. "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do this day give my oath of allegiance to the principles of the Light and to this Twelfth Order of the Phoenix. I will endeavor always to work toward peace for wizarding Britain and to defend against the forces of the Dark wherever they may intrude upon our lives. On my magic, so I swear."

Fawkes and Dumbledore were briefly enclosed in a nimbus of white light, during which Fawkes trilled another oddly comprehensible melody. _You are the leader, my companion,_ he was saying. _Do what you must, as well as you can._

As the Headmaster stepped away, he noticed a golden-colored phoenix pendant, much like the one Snape had received about a month before, hanging from a thin chain over his robes. _Phoenixes truly are magnificent creatures . . ._

"Professor, what's that?" growled Alastor Moody from his place near the front of the room.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "In truth, Alastor, I haven't any idea. It appeared on me after I swore the oath. I would suppose that they are means of marking our membership; obviously, you need not wear one unless you wish to."

"Fair enough."

It so happened that Harry was the next to stand. He walked toward Fawkes and spoke the same oath that Dumbledore had.

The response rather surprised him. _You are the second, my friend,_ Fawkes seemed to say. _You have much yet to learn, but you possess remarkable purity and determination that will serve you well in this fight. You are the next generation. Learn, do, and win._ As Harry sat down, he looked down at his robes; the phoenix pendant had evidently been added to the Pack-pendants' chain, which was now visible to all. He noticed its eyes were gold, while the rest of the design was silver.

After Ginny swore the oath, the two had a short silent conversation. **Did Fawkes say anything to you?** Harry asked.

**Yes. 'You are the hope, my child. Never lose it.'** She sounded puzzled, trying to work out what the bird had been trying to get across.

Harry smiled as he relayed to her his own experience. **And you _are_ hope, Gin. At least for me. How many times have you been the one to get me out of a rut, now? Four? Five?**

**I guess.** She fell silent for a second. **Fawkes really is amazing, isn't he? I never knew he could do something like this.**

**Voldemort's side isn't the only one with powerful magic. We've got a chance, and then some.**

Once everyone had sworn and was once again sitting around the table, Fawkes flamed away back to Dumbledore's office and the Headmaster nodded significantly towards Harry. The latter stood up.

_All right, this is it . . . I really, really hope we can trust these people._

He and Dumbledore had discussed revealing the four time-travelers' largest secret before the Order meeting, and Dumbledore had been highly encouraging in its favor. Ultimately, with some persuasion, Harry had agreed. However, revealing that secret required that the other members remain quiet long enough to allow Harry to speak, which, for some who were just now getting a good look at him, was not going to be happening.

"Look at him," Moody scoffed. "He's just a kid. What right does he have to be in here with the best of us?"

_I'd hoped this wouldn't be necessary, but . . ._

Harry cocked his head challengingly, and a smile grew as Ginny supplied him with an utterly excellent idea.

_When I snap my fingers, attack the hair. Not the man, only the hair. Do not allow the man to feel any heat._

He snapped his fingers.

The top of Alastor Moody's head lit ablaze.

The younger Order members were able to hold in their laughter for maybe five seconds. Seeing their highly skilled and utterly irascible leader in such a position was too much for some of the Aurors to resist.

"And what might you be laughing about?" Moody growled threateningly.

That, of course, only made the Longbottoms laugh harder.

"Look at your hair," Arabella Figg said shortly.

Moody lifted a hand to his scalp to do so, and found it bare. He scowled menacingly at Harry, who kept a practiced innocent expression, for about ten seconds before emitting a bark of laughter. "Fine, fine, sonny, you win. Shouldn't've underestimated you, now should've I . . . CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Harry didn't even flinch; Moody looked at him curiously.

Harry allowed a small smile to seep through his expression. "I've heard it before, Auror Moody, which is one of the things I was about to explain. But first, I see a few words on our ages would be appropriate. Pack, stand up."

Ten chairs grated as ten people stood up. A few of the adults looked on askance at the sheer number of them.

"I see you didn't notice us before." A few nervous titters. "I'm Harry Potter. Me, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger soon-to-be Granger-Weasley are all eighteen." The people he named indicated themselves as he did so. "Gertrude 'Danger' Granger is sixteen. All the rest of us—James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Rachel Trent, and Lily Evans—are seventeen. Together, we are known as the Pack." He fell silent for a second or two, collecting his thoughts. "We may not have all the reflexes of an Auror, and we certainly won't claim we're finished learning new skills. But I don't think, Auror Moody, that even _you_ could claim that."

Moody shook his head once, silently. _Looks like we made an impression . . ._

"What we do have," Harry said clearly, "is maturity, a reason to fight, and the determination to see this war through. Those, I think, are what we need in the Order. Skills can be learned. Those can't. So please, don't discount us on account of our years. We're not asking to be included in the stuff requiring finesse and years of carefully honed spellwork; those, we'll be more than happy to leave to the most experienced. We _are_ asking for our input to be recognized. For one, I think our perspective is damn valid. For another, four of us have lived through this before."

James made a slight motion with his hands, and in unison all four Marauders and Danger sat down. _I'll have to ask him about that,_ Harry thought. Lily and Rachel followed a split-second later.

"I was born on July 31, 1980."

A few sharp inhalations of breath were heard; for the most part, though, Harry's audience showed their shock only with widened eyes and incredulous expressions.

"On October 31, 1981, Lord Voldemort attacked the home of Lily and James Potter. After killing both of them, he attempted to do me in as well, using an extraordinarily Dark curse I only know the effects of. The circumstances are complicated and involve details I can't know, as I was a baby at the time, but basically that curse bounced off me and hit Voldemort instead. He got whisked from his body, I got this scar—" Harry parted his bangs and pointed to it— "that gives the two of us a tenuous mental link and grants me one particular unusual ability, and I was raised by my rather horrid aunt and uncle."

Lily snorted. "More than _rather_," she muttered.

"Well, yeah." Harry went on to summarize the events of his six years of Hogwarts life, lingering the longest on those bits of it that touched upon the war and the reformation of the Order.

When he had finished, no one looked ready to claim that the teens were too young for the Order of the Phoenix.

Moody, though, did have one last concern. "I don't know any of you personally, you know. How can I trust that none of you will betray us?"

"Paranoid as ever, Auror Moody," was Harry's glib response. He turned serious. "But we have sworn an oath. It is binding by magic, and none who breaks it shall ever find peace, by day or by night, in life or in death . . ." Harry extended his hands slightly. Ron and Hermione, to his left and right, stood up, as did the rest of the Pack in a sort of rippling wave. "My hand in yours."

He joined hands with Ron and Hermione. "My wand in yours."

All of the Pack was standing by now, clasping hands. "My life for yours."

The last line was said in surprising unison. "Now and forever."

Fawkes crooned softly; the sound was muffled by the wall separating Dumbledore's office and the room they were in, but it was still quite clear. Moody blinked, as did a few of the others.

The moment passed. All eleven Pack members present sat down.

"Thank you," said the old Auror in a slightly gentler growl. "I'm satisfied now."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Excellent. And now that that is complete, on to other business. First, Voldemort's plans. At the moment, we do not know much; our spy tells us he is lying low, continuing his usual atrocities but not planning any new ones. That may change dramatically soon, but for now it seems a prophecy concerning Harry here has shaken him rather badly. . . ."

**Well, that went well. Too bad Aletha couldn't join without parental consent; she would've loved the look on Moody's face!**

**We can still show her.** Ginny tapped her pendants unobtrusively. **Remember the Ravenclaw gift?**

**Oh. Right.**

* * *

On the day of July 30, the Lair received a seemingly relentless stream of Pack members via Floo.

"Those Muggles had the right idea with their bore-dell things," Ron said after Aletha had arrived, been careful not to announce her presence, and managed to surprise the living daylights out of him in the living room. "Noise when someone comes in. Why can't wizards figure that out?"

"_Doorbell_, Ron," Hermione corrected absently. She gazed into space for almost a minute, during which time Ron was careful not to say or do anything. "Got it!" she exclaimed triumphantly after a few tentative wand movements, then pointed her wand at the fireplace and muttered an incantation.

_Ding-dong._ Sirius came through the Floo.

He frowned. "Why is everyone staring at me?"

"Oh, I managed to scare Ron by sneaking up on him," said Aletha lightly, "which prompted him to wish the Floo had a doorbell, which made Hermione invent one, and it worked on the first try. Is that what you do at work all day, Hermione?"

Hermione beamed. "Some of it. But mostly it's a lot more theoretical work before you try and a lot more experimentation before it's done. I can only do the really simple combinations in my head—that one was a Gateway Charm charged with Doorbell Charms (yes, Ron, there is such a thing) and powered off the fireplace."

"Only you, Hermione, would think that was _really simple_," Ron muttered. "Me, I couldn't come up with that to save my life."

"Oh really?" Hermione challenged. "Who, then, was it that put those Color-Changing Charms on the Slytherins last year?"

"Are you referring to the one time it wasn't us, or one of the five it was?" Sirius asked innocently. "Although we still got the fall for that first one . . . masterful work, truly, don't know how they managed it. Now might you have inside information, dear Hermione?"

Hermione laughed. "It was Harry and Ginny definitely, but I thought Ron might've helped them."

Sirius's expression turned inscrutable. "I think a word must be said with our young old Mr. Potter. Where might he be again?"

"Den room." At the Marauder's quizzical look, Hermione elaborated. "Upstairs, first door on the right. Added some Enlarging Charms and moved all the mattresses in there."

"Excellent! Follow me, please." Sirius began an exaggerated march up the stairs, a bemused Ron, Hermione, and Aletha in tow. He knocked on the door to the den room.

"Come in," said Harry's muffled voice.

"Harry James Potter!" Sirius said in his best stern voice (which was not very stern at all). "Did you or did you not, on the morning of September 3, 1976, play a prank on the Slytherins for which _we_ got detention?"

Harry grinned. "Well, you _were_ being prats at the time."

"True enough. Marauders! Opinions?"

James waggled a finger at him. "Ah-ah-ah, Sirius. Remember Rule 1 and Addenum 42(a)?"

Seven people looked at Remus quizzically; they were sure he would be the only one to even think of explaining. "Rule 1," he recited. "'Don't get mad. Get even.'"

"Do your worst," Harry said. "I'm sure you've pranked all the other Defense teachers."

"True enough," Sirius replied easily.

"Addenum 42(a)," Remus continued. "Commonly known as the Hypocrisy Agreement. We all tried to get our parents to agree, but none of them would do it. 'We'll follow the rules if you do.'"

A few of the non-Marauders laughed.

"And it occurs to me," James said suddenly, "that we have never discussed the other side of that agreement. Namely, we are all growing up, leaving school, getting old—"

"Hey!" Ron said indignantly. Everyone else laughed.

"—and someday we will have children of our own, to which we may pass down our finest traditions." Lily glared at him. "Suitably moderated, of course. Now! We always wanted adults to be logical. Let's fulfill that role ourselves. Move to accept the Hypocrisy Agreement for any children we might someday have. All in favor say 'aye'."

"Aye!" shouted a chorus of voices.

"Vote is unanimous," Hermione droned. "Motion carried."

The Pack burst out laughing.

* * *

(A/N: I have a simply wonderful idea for the next chapter that I'm pretty sure a lot of you will like. There's a hint in the first scene of Chapter 1 . . . Don't forget that review!) 


	3. Crossroads

(A/N: Since some of you don't seem to understand this: I am not Anne. I have no idea what's going to happen in the future of _Facing Danger_. Anything in this chapter that looks like a spoiler is pure speculation. Don't feel spoiled.)

* * *

**Chapter 3: Crossroads**. 

By the time the sun set, all twelve Pack members were sitting or lying on the mattresses in the den room. Harry cleared his throat and gave the traditional start for den. "Be welcome, all, to this den-night. We are Pack now, Pack together."

"Pack forever," everyone else responded.

"All right," said Hermione, raising her hand slightly. "I'll get this out of the way now. So please, just to satisfy my own curiosity, how did everyone do on their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s?"

Sirius groaned. "Oh, come _on_—" Aletha glared at him. He quickly shut his mouth.

Harry grinned. "**O** in Defense and Transfiguration, **E** in Charms and—somehow—in Potions. I did it!" Silence fell as everyone looked at Ron, who was sitting next to him. Harry poked him in the shoulder.

Ron started. "Oh! Same, except I only got an **E** in Transfiguration. I'm not as far along on Animagus, guess that might've had something to do with it, but still—"

"Oh, Ron, that's great!" Hermione exclaimed, hugging him tightly. Sirius made a few well-placed kissing noises, causing the two to break apart, blushing, before things could go any further.

Aletha frowned. "Sirius, do you really think—"

"How'd you do on your O.W.L.s, Aletha?" Sirius asked quickly, effectively changing the topic. Harry stifled a grin; the same technique had been used by Ron with Hermione more times than he could remember.

The frown disappeared. "**E**'s in pretty much everything," Aletha said happily. "Failed History of Magic, but I really couldn't care less. And I got **O**'s in Potions and—thanks to you, Harry—Defense."

"Similar for me, a bit worse," Danger said with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure I did amazing on the written but practically failed the practicals. You know how it is with me and spells; some click, others, well, don't. So I got **A**'s in Transfiguration and Charms, **O** in Potions—no spellwork there!—**E**'s in everything else. I'm not going to be an Auror or a Healer, but honestly, I never really wanted to be one anyway."

**And what _do_ you want to be?** Remus asked via their mental link.

**I'm not the high-aspirations type. Not career-wise, anyway. Have a job, earn a decent living, and go home to a loving family, that's all I care about.**

Moony grimaced, at least insofar as a wolf could approximate that expression. **You do know werewolves are sterile, right?**

**Families don't have to be related biologically,** Danger responded quickly. **The Pack . . .**

There was no response, but Danger could tell her bondmate was deep in thought all the same. And she wasn't altogether sure she had entirely managed to hide the brief twinge of regret she had felt at the reminder.

_No one has it all,_ she reminded herself quietly. _Be happy with what you do have. It's more than most._

_But still . . ._

"What about you, Hermione?" James asked innocently. "All **P**'s?"

"Of course not, James!" was the indignant response. "All **O**'s except an **E** in Defense," she continued more quietly.

"That's great, Hermione!" said Lily. "Congratulations!"

The Pack stayed up well past midnight, talking, playing, and generally enjoying themselves.

_Without this,_ thought Ginny, _we might forget what we're fighting for . . ._

* * *

Harry blinked. He was still in the same position he had been a second ago, and by the look of it most of the rest of the Pack was too, except that Remus was back in human form, but above him was—the night sky? 

He lifted his head and looked around. _No, not outside. Hogwarts Great Hall._

This, of course, only served to make the situation even more surreal.

_Hold on a second. We should _not _be lying on the ground between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff house tables. And the Hall shouldn't be this empty . . ._

Harry's head whipped around. Sure enough, standing in a line on the teachers' dais were ten very familiar people, one of them standing slightly forward.

"It is time," said the man, who was wearing red robes and who Harry recognized as Godric Gryffindor. "Time," he repeated, "to name the honorary Heirs." The capital letter on the word could not be missed from the way it was spoken.

Rather embarrassed, Harry stood up. The rest of the Pack followed his lead.

"Who're _you_?" Ron blurted out. "And where are we, anyway?"

Harry grimaced, but Godric wasn't offended. "Two of your number know us already," he said simply. "To the rest, at least four of us should be familiar."

Ron's eyes moved slowly across the line of people, focusing on the last one. He gaped. "_Alex?_" He was beginning to put the pieces together, based on what Harry had told him in June. "So you're— you're the Founders?"

"Why, indeed we are. Well done, Ronald."

Hermione frowned. "Why are we here, though? If you wanted something, you'd just tell us mentally, or put it in one of Danger's prophecies or something . . ."

"That is quite correct, Hermione," Rowena said, sounding extraordinarily like Professor McGonagall. "But one cannot very well participate in a ceremony without physically being there—in a dream, if nothing else."

Godric smiled enigmatically at them. "You should know that the twelve of you are unique in more ways than the obvious. For one, you are the only group in your world to share the oath that binds us. For another, the Heart of Hogwarts has opened itself to you. Do you understand what that means?"

"True Heirs . . ." Harry muttered. "Heirs in blood and Heirs in heart . . . Was that true, what Professor Dumbledore said?"

"What reason would he have to lie to you? Yes, it is true, and that is why you are here today. Two of you already know you are blood Heirs—of myself, in fact. We are prohibited from telling the Heirs who they are, they must discover it themselves, but . . ." He seemed to consider something for a moment. "Yes, I think it would be allowable to inform you of this. If you believe you have found all the Heirs—the blood Heirs, in any event, as all of you are to become honorary Heirs tonight—in your group with certainty, you are wrong."

Automatically, a few Pack members looked at Aletha; she had owned the Ravenclaw brooch, after all, and she possessed quite an interest in Healing. Aletha, though, just shrugged and shook her head.

Margaret Ravenclaw was very carefully schooling her features into a neutral expression.

James, meanwhile, had seized upon the possible implications of the phrase 'honorary Heirs'. "Will we get powers?" he asked excitedly.

"Not powers, as such," said Rowena. "The family talents cannot be granted outside of the bloodline except in very special circumstances. What we can give you are greater stores of the landmark ability of each House, and I daresay you will find need of them in the years to come . . . It is the sort of magic not that allows you to do greater things as an individual, but that allows you to do greater things as a group."

The Pack fell silent.

"Very well, then," said Godric. "Shall we proceed?"

Harry stood tall and looked around him. On eleven faces he saw no hesitation, no worry, only anticipation and determination. He nodded. "The Pack stands ready."

"Then let the naming of the honorary Heirs now begin."

In a flash, all of them were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a line about the middle of the Hall, wearing dress robes. The Founders' positions remained unchanged.

The green-robed man on the end of the Founders' line stepped forward. "I, Alexander Slytherin, do this day call forth those whom I wish to make my honorary Heirs. Sirius Valentine Black, come forward."

Sirius started walking, using the more controlled, refined style of movement his parents had drilled into him at an early age, but looking absolutely dumbfounded that he had been the first to be called, or that _Slytherin_ (_his good son_, Sirius reminded himself) had been the one to choose him. _Maybe they're not all so bad after all . . ._

"Lily Cecilia Evans, daughter of Harold, daughter of Chelsea, come forward."

Lily started walking as well, smiling in amazement.

The two reached the front of the Hall, just in front of Alex, and looked at him intently.

Alex looked back down at them. "Hear now the responsibilities of a true Heir of the House of Slytherin. To push onwards when others falter and fail. To prefer an artful solution to one of brute force, and to be the one who offers such a solution. To use all ethical means to your end, and to take the burden of any unethical means upon yourself, rather than tricking another into doing so. Will you accept these responsibilities?"

"I will," the two said in unison.

Alex stepped forward and stretched out his hands, placing one on Lily's left shoulder and one on Sirius's right. "I charge you," he said firmly, "no matter the behavior of others, never to let your actions dishonor that House to which you now belong. Receive that power which is rightfully yours."

All three figures were enclosed in an aura of green light for a second. It vanished; all three returned to their places, Alex in the Founders' line, Lily and Sirius in that of the Pack. Lily looked thoughtful, Sirius still gobsmacked, though Harry had to give him credit for hiding it well.

The man and woman in yellow stepped forward—the Hufflepuffs, Harry remembered. "I, Adam Hufflepuff, do this day call forth Peter Arnold Pettigrew, son of Elaine."

Peter, standing next to Rachel, was so surprised he didn't move until the latter nudged him slightly. His first few steps were at somewhat of a run, but he quickly recovered.

"I, Helga Hufflepuff, do this day call forth Gertrude Kelly Granger, daughter of David, daughter of Rose."

Danger looked surprised, but came forward anyway.

"Hear now the responsibilities of a true Heir of the House of Hufflepuff," Helga said. "To do that work which is unending and often tiresome but necessary, with little to no thanks in return. To remain loyal to a just cause even when it seems an impossible dream. To follow one's chosen leader faithfully but not blindly. Will you accept these responsibilities?"

"I will," they said together. Peter's voice betrayed none of his past nervousness.

_The old Peter would have turned tail and ran from a situation like this. Then again, I doubt he would've managed to get into it in the first place . . ._

Each Hufflepuff placed his hands on his Heir's shoulders, Adam on Peter's, Helga on Danger's. Helga reminded them of their obligation to their new honorary House, using the same words as Alex had, and completed the acknowledgement with "Receive that power which is rightfully yours." This time, the light that wreathed the three was yellow.

The two in yellow stepped back and the four women in blue came forward as Peter and Danger returned to their places in line.

The red-haired woman—Margaret, the Squib—was the first to speak. "I, Margaret Ravenclaw, do this day call forth Remus John Lupin, son of John, son of Katherine."

Looking unsurprised, Remus walked slowly forward.

The dark-haired woman was next. "I, Brenna Ravenclaw, do this day call forth Hermione Jane Granger, daughter of David, daughter of Rose."

Hermione made her way to the front of the Hall, beaming.

"I, Sophia Ravenclaw, do this day call forth Rachel Trent, daughter of Patrick, daughter of Gallatea." Sophia was the blonde Ravenclaw daughter, and she had a rather unconcerned look that seemed slightly out-of-place in comparison to the other three's stark frankness. _Maybe Luna and Rachel were sorted Ravenclaw for a reason,_ Harry thought.

The eldest Ravenclaw was the last to call her Heir. "I, Rowena Ravenclaw, do this day call forth Aletha Carina Freeman, daughter of William, daughter of Teresa." Aletha looked slightly astounded she had been called, but she masked her features well into the formal pose that seemed called for, holding her head proudly.

"Hear now the responsibilities of a true Heir of the House of Ravenclaw," Rowena said formally after each woman had placed her hands on the shoulders of her Heir. "To be ever diligent in learning, even when the knowledge is difficult or dangerous to acquire, or when it does not agree with a belief of one's own. To share knowledge with others as it is needed, but not to press it where it is not wanted, unless the need is great. To work for the healing of all breaches and a common fellowship of those who love the truth. Will you accept these responsibilities?"

They would.

Rowena repeated the reminder of obligations to their new House, and blue light shone brightly around each pair. Remus looked content, Hermione ecstatic, Aletha peaceful, and Rachel mystical as ever as the eight walked back to their places.

Finally, the three red-robed people stepped forward. _This is us,_ Harry thought excitedly. _The Gryffindors . . ._

"I, Paul Gryffindor, do this day call forth Ronald Bilius Weasley, son of Arthur, son of Molly."

Ron seemed surprised to hear his name; even after everything he had accomplished in recent years, he still tended to feel like he wasn't worthy of any special recognition. He walked a bit hesitantly at first, but gained nerve as he approached the dais.

"I, Maura Gryffindor, do this day call forth James Tiberius Potter, son of Charles, son of Paige."

James started walking almost before his name had been completely said; evidently, he wasn't surprised at all.

All eyes turned to face the first Gryffindor, the de facto leader of the Founders, as he named the last Heirs. "I, Godric Gryffindor, do this day call forth Harry James Potter, son of James, son of Lily, and Ginevra Molly Weasley, daughter of Arthur, daughter of Molly."

**He wants both of us?** Harry questioned in surprise as they walked solemnly.

**Twelve of us, ten of them. Two have to double up, though I'm sure there's some sort of significance to who named whom . . .**

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Lily adopt a proud expression as Godric named him. Looking straight ahead, he saw James's features change subtly too, in a manner indescribable but certainly approving.

Godric looked down at his House's four Heirs, his keen eyes seeming to penetrate into the depths of their being, but not uncomfortably so. "Hear now the responsibilities of a true Heir of the House of Gryffindor," he said. "To meet all challenges bravely, putting fear aside. To always defend those who cannot defend themselves. To lead faithfully and well, recalling that all great leaders are servants of those they lead. Will you accept these responsibilities?"

**That's you to a T,** Ginny said silently.

**And you.**

"I will," they said together, in the strongest voices they could manage. James said it at the same time; Ron followed barely half a second later.

Godric stepped closer, putting one hand on Ginny's left shoulder and one on Harry's right. "I charge you, no matter the behavior of others, never to let your actions dishonor that House to which you now belong. Receive that power which is rightfully yours."

The experience was indescribable. Underlying it was the general feeling of powerful warmth that Harry associated with the awakening of his Gryffindor powers five months ago, but various images seemed to be superimposed upon that feeling, such that Harry actually _felt_ the experiences—a prism hanging in a sunny window, a log crackling upon a fireplace, and many, many more. And all the while, he kept his eyes resolutely open, seeing a nimbus of red light grow to engulf him, Ginny, and Godric, and feeling almost as though he could see the Pack, twelve strong, standing before him, even though he knew they were at his back . . .

The light faded. Somewhere along the way, he had grasped Ginny's hand, and he wasn't planning on letting it go now that he was cognizant of that fact. The two returned to their places next to each other in line.

"I charge you all," said Godric finally, "to use these powers always for good, never for evil, but to recall that life is a difficult and a complicated thing."

_Sounds familiar. I guess that's part of what got passed down._

"And I remind you not to be too quick to deal out death and judgement, for even the very wise cannot see all ends." Godric's expression changed slightly; it wasn't a smile, exactly, but it seemed proud. "Let our ceremony be ended, in the name of all that is good."

"Let it be so," the other nine Founders intoned.

Paul let out an exaggerated sigh. "Phew. Now that all that's dealt with, we can get to the _really_ important stuff."

"And what might that be?" Sirius asked curiously.

"Two words: Par, tee."

Sirius grinned. "Think I can handle that."

Margaret smiled. "Oh, and I warn you, you may have some visitors. Let's get started, now." She descended from the dais and walked over to a newly materialized long table along the right side of the Hall, containing a variety of delicious-looking snacks.

James, Sirius, and Ron rushed over to said table, causing Hermione to roll her eyes good-naturedly. Harry followed absently, trying to figure out what Margaret had meant by that last comment. _Godric told me last time that only people who swore the oath can get in here, and this time we're the only ones who've sworn it. Except Dumbledore, and his brother, and Snape, but they don't really count._

_Wait. The actual phrase was 'only ones in your world'._

_Could he mean . . ._

_No. No way._

It was, of course, at exactly that moment that twelve figures appeared, standing, in the middle of the Hall, like fireballs in reverse. When the light cleared, Harry could see their faces. So, in fact, could Hermione, and Lily, and everyone else who was not occupied with the snack table.

The faces they saw were their own. Eight of them were, at any rate—a Harry, a Ginny, a Ron, and a Hermione, each the same age as his or her counterpart, plus a twenty-years-older Danger, Aletha, Remus, and Sirius, one girl none of them knew that looked to be Aletha's daughter, and three people Harry remembered from back in his own time . . .

Neville was fine. So was Luna. It was actually rather a relief to see them again, despite the very odd circumstances.

The problem was with the last one.

"You!" Harry hissed, glaring fiercely at the blond boy. _How did he get in here? What kind of Dark magic is this now?_

The boy looked innocent and held up his hands. "Calm down, Harry—er, whoever you are! I didn't do anything!"

That, it seemed, was too much. "You didn't do anything?" Harry asked softly, with a deadly chill, as he advanced upon the boy. "You _didn't do anything?_ You killed Dumbledore, that's what you did! You brought Death Eaters into the school, MALFOY! _You vile, loathsome, scheming, snake-tongued bastard!_"

Most of the people there looked confused at this last line; a few of the Founders turned to look at Alex, who shrugged and smiled knowingly.

The visitors looked around theatrically. "Don't see any Malfoys," other Ron said after a few seconds. "If I do, I'll be sure to send them to Azkaban for you."

Harry glared wordlessly at the blond boy in the group, throwing a finger sharply in his direction.

The boy frowned. "Sorry, but I honestly don't know what's bothering you. My name is Draco Black. I haven't been a Malfoy since I was four years old. And just out of curiosity, Harry, what was that that you said after my father's name? Who, by the way, died a little over a year ago after capturing me; I had to Polyjuice us into each other to escape. Anyway, that phrase—I don't think I heard it too clearly."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "I was being perfectly clear, Mal– Draco, whatever. I'm not saying I believe you, but I guess some introductions are in order . . ."

Other Harry grinned and waved jauntily at the hall. He turned to face his counterpart and cocked his head slightly. "Actually, other self, there's only one of us in here, apart from us two, who could understand what you said. Here, I'll provide a translation. 'You vile, loathsome, scheming, snake-tongued bastard!' Which is a rather ironic thing to say in that language, all things considered . . ."

"Yes, it's generally a good idea not to use your gift in conjunction with that particular adjective," Alex said, trying desperately not to laugh.

Harry groaned. "I cursed in _Parseltongue_? Merlin, I _was_ mad."

"I think we might need to backtrack here a little bit," said other Remus, his eyes fixed on one particular person—on Peter, Harry realized. "Names first, as I have a feeling some of them have changed between us."

"So far, all of ours are the same as we were born with," Harry said. "Though that'll be changing in a couple weeks, when Hermione Granger appends a Weasley . . ."

Other Ron and other Hermione blushed.

Other Remus stepped forward. "Well, meet the Pack and the Pride. All of us are the same as well—all of you who don't know, these are Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Sirius's daughter Meghan Black—except Hermione Granger-_Lupin_, Gertrude Granger-_Lupin_, Ginny _Potter_, and—" he shot a speculative look at Aletha, then grinned wickedly— "Aletha Freeman-_Black_."

Aletha spluttered and glared. "I– I can't believe—"

Lily smiled genially at her. "Did you know, my reaction to learning I married James was almost the same? Something along the lines of, 'What was I THINKING?!'. But try to let go of your preconceptions, if you can—"

Other Harry's eyes widened slightly on noticing that Lily and James were part of this group, but he kept silent.

Sirius snorted. Other Sirius looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "Trust me, self, you won't be feeling that way in a year or two. Probably less than a year, actually. Of course, I didn't have the benefit of an alternate version of myself giving me advice, so it took me until 1980 . . . Do remember what Rowena said about a common fellowship of those who love the _truth_. Then think about what her name means."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Right," said Harry after a few seconds' silence. "Anyway. Our story's pretty simple; me, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione got thrown back in time from August 11, 1997 to 1976 due to an attack on the Burrow. The only people in the now-Pack I had met before then were Remus and Sirius—oh, and Wormtail, but not in very pleasant circumstances."

Other Sirius glowered. "So this Peter's _not_ a murderous, backstabbing traitor?"

Surprisingly, it was Rachel who spoke in his defense. "No, he's not. His dad died almost a year ago, and that forced him to really reevaluate things. Like what sort of a friend he was being, and just whose side he was really on . . . It was definitely a beneficial impact."

"And Wormtail's dad was a Death Eater," Sirius muttered. "Without him, he might've turned out all right . . . Makes sense, I guess. Continue."

"So anyway, I just finished seventh year, the Marauders finished sixth, Danger and Aletha fifth. We formed the Pack-bond end of this past April, but it had been brewing for a while before that; ever since Danger prevented Moony from running off during the werewolf incident, really. I know I'm an Heir of Gryffindor, we're all working towards Animagus but so far just me and Hermione have managed it, apart from the Marauders, obviously. Danger's pretty close, though . . . I think that's about it. Oh, and I'm teaching Defense next year. What about you?"

Other Harry grinned more widely than Harry thought possible.

"We defeated Voldemort nine months ago," he said.

_That would do it._

"Right now, we're all basically unwinding from the war. It's been three years since it started, and it had gotten pretty bad. Oh, and among us twelve we have three kids."

"Already?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"Well, one of them is ours, Marcus; he's two now," Aletha said. "But as for the other two . . . I think I'll let the cubs explain."

"Nadia is Ginny and mine," Harry said with a proud smile. "She's almost one, and is just the cutest, loveliest baby you've ever seen."

"Why so young, though?" Lily asked. "Did you—"

Harry laughed. "Oh, no, nothing like that!" His expression turned somber, almost wistful. "Let's just say it was necessary and leave it at that. I don't really want to talk about it. But Nadia was quite planned."

Draco grinned sheepishly. "Irene, on the other hand, was not. Luna and I weren't even married yet, the war was pretty much at its worst . . . We managed. I don't regret anything."

"And as for how this all happened," Sirius recounted, "it all starts with a chance meeting in the park . . ."

The Pack listened, enraptured, as Sirius masterfully told the true story of the other Pack's life as it had diverged from the one Harry knew around early 1982: his escape from Azkaban to hide out with Aletha and a disguised Remus, Danger, Harry, and Hermione; how Meghan and Draco had come to the Pack; traveling, brushes with capture, friendship, growing up, and the trials that ultimately led to their vindication. Harry picked up the thread, speaking more plainly but just as engrossingly about the Hogwarts years of the group of kids that would come to be known as the Pride, the conflict that grew with each passing year, and how they somehow managed to find peace despite all that . . .

Lily shook her head in amazement. "You twelve are amazing. Honestly, Sirius, you should write that into book form, call it 'Living with Danger' or something, and publish it. Your story deserves to be known, and not just by those who know it's true. Change the names if you want, but really, it's truly inspiring that you were able to do so much."

Sirius pondered this for a second, apparently affected by the source of the comment. "I've never thought about it that way before," he said. "We've always just been happy to survive, to have each other despite everything going on . . . Maybe. You bring up a good point, Lily. And Merlin, does it feel good to be talking to you again. Never thought I would."

Other Ron looked lost. "It's just our lives, honestly . . ."

"Ron, do you ever think about how remarkable those lives are?" Ginny asked frankly. "We're on the front end of the war you just completed, and I can't tell you how much it meant to us—me at least, and Harry says him too—to hear that."

"Wait a second," interrupted other Danger. "Harry says? Do you two have a mindlink?"

"Yeah, Margaret Ravenclaw gave it to us. Similar situation to yours, Danger, except the Founders didn't hold any debts over Harry's head; they just tried to guilt-trip him into leaving us behind." Ginny punched Harry lightly on the shoulder. "Good thing I made him see sense."

From there on, Margaret's appellation became accurate; the conversation became much less serious and fragmented into multiple distinct groups. Oddly enough, counterparts tended to come together instead of avoiding each other; there was a bit of awkwardness, to be sure, but none of them were Gryffindors for nothing. Who, after all, would pass up the chance to pick their own brain?

Harry sat slightly to one side of the Hall for a few minutes, lost in thought as he watched the proceedings. Luna and Rachel were in earnest discussion with Sophia Ravenclaw about something, Rachel's eyes wide in sudden comprehension . . . other Danger loudly asked Alex where next year's prophecy was, to which he responded, "Your lives are so uneventful we couldn't come up with one," and there was much cheering among the visitors . . . the two Rons compared chess strategies . . . other Aletha was giving her counterpart some advice . . . other Harry stood nervously near Lily and James . . .

Other Remus walked over to Harry and sat down, falling silent for a while.

"It's weird," he said finally. "My Harry and you haven't had similar lives since you were one and a half years old, but you've turned out so similarly—and I mean that in the best possible way. I always wondered how bad things would be if Danger had never met me in that park, if you had stayed with the Dursleys all your life . . . it's oddly comforting to know things would've still turned out all right, at least mostly."

"They have a habit of doing that," Harry said softly. "Usually there's trouble along the way, though."

"For you more than most." It was a frank assessment of the truth.

"True enough. It's like having a nice big sign on your back: 'The One With The Power To Vanquish The Dark Lord!'" Harry laughed humorlessly. "It feels like such a responsibility, sometimes . . ."

"And you just want to get it over with." Other Remus completed the sentence after it became apparent Harry had no desire to do so. "You want the war to be over so you can live your life."

Harry nodded wordlessly. The two fell silent for a while, watching the hectic happiness going on all around them.

"The thing is, though, Harry, you can't put off your life until you feel ready to have it. You're living it right now. And if you say, I won't do such-and-such until I've defeated Voldemort—I won't fall in love, or let myself have fun, or start the family I want, or smile, or laugh, or just spend a week getting away from it all sometimes—well, what are you fighting for, then?"

Harry smiled weakly. "I know. Ginny's told me mostly the same thing. She's actually drilled it into my thick skull pretty fiercely a few times. But—it's hard, you know? I never really had a family, not like your Harry did. I had friends—still have them, and they're the best part of my life, but I couldn't really let myself go with them. I wasn't _used_ to having someone to go to. I tend to try to take my problems on myself."

More contemplative silence.

"You know about the prophecy, right?" other Remus asked out of the blue.

Harry nodded. "There's another one in this time period, different wording, same basic gist."

"Do you know that my Harry didn't want to know what it was?"

Harry looked at him in shock. _How could anyone know there was something that would make sense of the worst part of their life and _not _want to know about it?_

"Truly," other Remus affirmed. "He knew the first part, up to 'born as the third month dies'. He knew it meant he would have to face Voldemort one day. That's all he _wanted_ to know. 'What would come, would come, and he would face it when it did.'"

"Hagrid told me that once," Harry said absently. "I never understood how you could just—ignore it like that." He gave a slight chuckle. "Summer after he said it, I was sneaking around the Dursleys' trying to hear about Voldemort on the evening news."

"That was the beginning of fifth year," other Remus said a few seconds later. "When Harry found out the prophecy. . . . That year, he managed to get expelled by Umbridge on the first day of school."

Harry laughed outright.

"That Christmas, he finally admitted his feelings for Ginny," other Remus continued. "That Easter, Marcus was born. Do you see what I'm getting at here? Life goes on whether you want it to or not. You'll be happiest if you make the most of it and don't worry too much about what's to come."

Harry sighed. "You're right. And as much as I hate to say it, I'm starting to feel mighty jealous of your Harry."

"Don't," other Remus advised. "He had his problems too, you know. Just consider what I said. Maybe be to your own children, or your friends', what circumstances prevented me from being to you in the life you knew." He paused, sighing. ". . . I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry you had the life you did, I'm sorry you feel so pressured to WIN sometimes—"

Harry held up a hand to interrupt him. "You don't need to apologize," he said softly, earnestly. "It wasn't your fault; it was circumstances, or Fate, or the demigods in this room, or whatever you want to call it. Choices, not circumstances, as Dumbledore likes to say . . . Here's to making myself a future that's better than my past."

Other Remus really smiled for the first time since he'd sat down. "Here's to such indeed."

_And here's to hoping it's actually possible._

Finally, at what Harry thought was well past dawn, the party started winding down. Only a few logistical issues remained to be sorted out before everyone woke up.

"Do you want to have this sort of combined gathering every year?" Margaret Ravenclaw asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Er . . . I'm not sure it would be such a good idea. I really loved having it, but ultimately we're in pretty different worlds, and I don't want to become dependent on my counterparts. If that's okay . . .?"

"Yes, I think I agree," Remus said. "Although it was certainly nice while it lasted. Maybe we can have a Packs' reunion in twenty years or so . . ."

"That seems an excellent idea," said Rowena. "Until then, I believe we shall arrange things such that the cross-generational Pack may have its yearly gatherings the day after the Pack and Pride, which would be the night of July 31."

"Sounds good," said Harry.

"And now, one last thing," Alex said matter-of-factly. "Danger the Granger-Lupin, you already know about this. Danger the just-Granger-so-far, you have a choice as to how you want to receive your prophecies: you can get them before important events, possibly too late to do what you need to, or you can get one per year outlining the things you'll face, and possibly not interpret it correctly or in time. It is, ultimately, your choice and yours alone."

**Not quite alone,** Danger said mentally to Remus. **What are your thoughts, love?**

**I think we should go with the one-a-year option. We'll have plenty of time to interpret it, and this way we won't be fretting about what might be coming. I think it's the better choice.**

**And I agree.** "I will choose to receive one prophecy per year. So I speak, so I intend."

"And so let it be done," Alex completed genially. "Your first one will be . . . tomorrow, I think. I need time to prepare it, after all."

Goodbyes were said, some of them rather emotional, as the pull of waking up began to be felt.

Adult Remus gripped Harry's hand tightly. "Stay safe, cub," he exhorted, "and remember to live."

One of other Harry's references to his Pack-father floated into Harry's mind. "I will, Moony," he responded firmly.

_Now if only it were that easy . . ._

* * *

(A/N: The Honorary Heirs' scene is very closely based on Chapter 21 of "Living Without Danger" by Anne Walsh. The Founders' descriptions of the duties of each House are word-for-word not my own. 

And 20K is passed! More to come!)


	4. Endings

**Chapter 4: Endings**.

Harry blinked. The image of the Founders' Castle disappeared—

—and was replaced by that of bright brown eyes twinkling at him, a few inches from his own.

"Happy birthday, love," Ginny said softly as she leaned in to give him quite a thorough kiss.

**This definitely counts as the best birthday I've ever had,** Harry remarked mentally, his mouth being otherwise occupied.

**Well, it's about to get better. All four of us are going to Potter Manor.**

**Today?**

**In less than an hour, actually. From what I've heard, your grandparents are preparing quite the party for you.**

They broke apart, grinning mutually. "Like I said," Harry said aloud. "Best birthday I've ever had."

Within the hour, all twelve of the Pack, plus the two adult Potters, were seated in the living room of Potter Manor.

"Well, happy birthday, Harry," said Charles Potter with a smile. "And many happy returns to come. I have a feeling some of us might have managed to dredge up some presents for you . . ."

Among those gifts were an Auror-standard wand holster from Charles, a very nice set of Defense books from Hermione that would come in quite handy for his classes next year, and a set of wizard chess pieces from Ron. (Harry's old set hadn't been in his trunk when the Burrow was attacked, so it hadn't made the jump across time.)

The strangest gift, though, had to be Sirius's. It was a note, written on old parchment and signed by all four Marauders, that Harry read aloud: _We, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, do solemnly swear not to play any pranks on Professor Harry James Potter for the duration of our seventh year. Other mischief, though, remains within bounds._

Harry grinned in amusement. "Professor McGonagall would love one of these, you know."

Sirius shrugged. "We considered it, but I think she wouldn't believe us anyway."

"How's this," James suggested. "We'll give her one _after_ we leave Hogwarts."

"And that wouldn't be a tad obvious?" Lily asked, smiling bemusedly. "You can't make mischief when you're not there to do it."

"Never underestimate the long arm of the Marauders," Peter said sagely. "I bet we could oust the Minister of Magic, if he was sufficiently idiotic to necessitate it."

"And our targets, though generally worthy of being such, never expect us," James finished.

Despite herself, Lily laughed. "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" she bellowed pompously.

It was obvious, by who was amused and who confused, who in the Pack had been exposed to Muggle culture.

The fun was interrupted, though, by four owls flying in. Three were carrying copies of the _Daily Prophet_, which went to Charles, Lily, and Hermione; the fourth dropped an official-looking envelope on Sirius's lap before flying away.

The articles lent a somber mood to what should have been a happy day. "Look at this," Lily muttered. "More attacks last night, ten people were killed—and it's in a tiny article on page six. Honestly, you'd swear they were trying to hide it . . ."

"People don't _want_ to read about war, Lily," Charles said matter-of-factly. "Especially when it's so close to home. Most people just want to live their lives under the delusion that they're not at all threatened . . . At least Minister Bagnold's rather competent, not some pompous windbag like Cornelius Fudge in International Magical Cooperation, and we've got Crouch heading the DMLE—"

Ron snorted. "Fudge was Minister in our time, and he's every bit as bad as you say. Let's see, he forced an infuriating, sappy, sadistic, incompetent _bitch_ Dolores Umbridge into the Defense post at Hogwarts, he sent an innocent man to Azkaban 'to look like he's doing something', he didn't even _acknowledge_ that Voldemort was back for almost a year . . ."

"And I'll diplomatically decline to comment on Crouch," said Harry. "Let's just say that from my point of view, he doesn't look so good."

Sirius, meanwhile, was staring at his now-opened letter in shock.

"What is it, Padfoot?" asked James, frowning.

"Uncle Alphard's dead," said Sirius shortly. "He left me some money, apparently; this is a letter from Gringotts asking me to come to a will reading. He was always one of the only ones in my family who wasn't quite as idiotic as my parents . . ."

"I'm sorry, mate," said James. "I never met him, but I know he loved you."

"He did." Sirius sighed and shook himself, reminding James uncontrollably of Padfoot. "I'll be fine, guys. It was just—a bad shock, I guess."

Hermione and Lily looked skeptical, but they let it pass.

A few hours later found Harry laying on his back in the backyard of Potter Manor, eyes closed, soaking up the invigorating warmth of summer that seemed so out of place amidst all the terror going on in magical Britain.

_Damn you, Voldemort, why do you have to make so many people's lives so miserable?_ he thought irritably. _Why do you have to scar us so badly?_

_Look at me. Came out here to get away from the darkness, and I'm back in it again. Lovely._

_And it's not even all Voldemort. Aletha's mum is in hospital; she had been getting sicker and sicker, but her dad didn't want to tell her 'so he wouldn't distract her'. Letha's pretty mad about that one. Not to mention worried as all hell._

Harry couldn't deny, though, that the warmth on his face and the grass behind his neck did something to make it all more bearable.

He breathed in; a new scent was on the air, a familiar one with overtones of anxiety. "Hullo, Ron," Harry said without opening his eyes.

"Hey, mate," said Ron. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Animagus, remember?" Harry cracked a smile; he had finished his transformation less than a week ago and, running around in his form for the first time, had encountered a wandering Bill who absolutely adored the 'big doggy'. Harry suspected he hadn't told Molly about the adventure. "We get some of the traits of our forms. I'm a wolf, so that basically means a better sense of smell. People really are distinctive, you know. You can tell who it is and how they're generally feeling, and if you're in animal form you can even follow their trail . . . I wish everything in this war were that easy."

"Trying to get away from it for a bit?"

"Yeah." Harry sighed. "Moony—other Remus, whatever—talked to me about it last night. He said I should try not to let it worry me before it's time—something like that, anyway. Pretty hard to do when it's as bad as it is."

"Well, look at it this way." Rustling noises signaled Ron's dropping down to sit next to Harry, who remained stretched out, eyes closed. "You're not going to get anything done by worrying about it. Look, Harry, I _know_ you care about us. We all do." He paused, unsure. "You're worried some of us are going to die, aren't you?"

"Right in one," Harry muttered. "When'd you get so smart, anyway?"

"Being around Hermione so much," Ron replied instantly. "But anyway. If we _did_ die, it would be doing something important to us. It would be fighting against Voldemort and his minions—and you _know_ we're going to win in the end, even if we're not all there to see it. Clear?"

Harry didn't answer for a few seconds. "If _I_ was the one dying," he said finally, "I could probably understand it better. Then at least I wouldn't feel so guilty. I have a lot to live for, now, but I would still give that up if it meant beating him. If there was no other way. I just don't want _you_ lot to have to do that . . ."

Ron grinned remniscently, though Harry couldn't see it. "You're so bloody noble sometimes, Harry. News flash: We all feel the same way. We know just fine how things _might_ turn out. We know it's not pretty. We also know _we can win in the end_."

Harry didn't reply, but Ron could tell his gambit had worked. His friend seemed less tense now. He just needed time to mull things over.

* * *

Meanwhile, Danger and Remus pondered the words that had been running through their heads all day.

_Darkness falls and bonds will break;  
Your future becomes what you make.  
Each one of you, accept your lot,  
Be troubled not by powers wrought,  
Let pass what may, bring life to life,   
And find not in amusement strife.  
Come winter-time, the plot is set:  
When cheer is greatest, lowest yet  
Will be: the alphas tests will stand,  
As light's own darkness threatens, and   
The raven-called, though not a friend,  
Shall prove himself to self-same end.  
The summer months bring trouble old;  
From none the chance to fight withhold,  
For all you'll need, to get what's lost,  
Though not defeat, mayhap exhaust,  
And on the day of losses twin  
Will come your chance to truly win.  
But let that pass. This imports more,  
That hope which must go on before:  
The lion's line continue must  
Ere that of serpent fall to dust._

**This one's practically impenetrable,** Remus commented. **Except the obvious—the first six lines are good advice no matter what, and after that all I can see is that we should be worried around Christmas and summer . . .**

**Agreed,** Danger said ruefully. '**The raven-called' might be Snape . . . but really, I think we should just discuss this next time we all get together. Which is, what, the thirty-first?**

**Yeah, day before Hogwarts, and I think James said he'd host this one. That should be plenty of fun.**

* * *

Aletha, sitting in her room at number 71, Crozer Street, started as she felt her pendants go cold.

_Oh God, please don't let it be anything serious . . . please let it just be a Quidditch accident, or something . . . or something Snape got himself into, that'd be fine too . . ._

She dimly registered, though, that she wasn't likely to get her wish. After all, 'mortal peril' was generally quite serious indeed.

It was the work of a thought to will her pendants through the blouse and jumper she was wearing, and barely a second more to spread them out in her hand, looking on both sides for the glow.

_Odd that those jewels are there now,_ she noticed detachedly. Looking at them felt better than figuring out who was in mortal peril at the moment. There was one on each pendant, visible from both sides; all of Aletha's were blue. _I wonder—maybe something to do with the honorary Heirs thing? I was of Ravenclaw . . ._

Suddenly remembering why she felt so tense, Aletha looked closer. What she saw made her heart sink.

_The feather, on the first pendant . . . Mum . . . she's been in hospital all week . . ._

"DAD!" Aletha yelled. "Mum's in trouble!"

William Freeman came running into his daughter's room. "What is it, honey?"

"Look at these!" Aletha thrust the pendants urgently into her father's surprised hands.

He started. "These are really cold, but all I see is a little engraving of a feather glowing—"

Aletha forced herself to remain calm. _Level-headedness is what we need here. She's fine . . . I hope . . ._ "Dad, without going into too much detail, these pendants represent people I know. The first one is for you and Mum, the second and third are my friends at school, the fourth one's a few other people—" She broke off, realizing the explanation was pointless. "They glow and get cold when someone's in mortal peril. The feather's for Mum, because of the work she does with the birds. Can we go to the hospital now?"

William sighed. "Sure, if you trust this thing. I'll get the car."

During the ride there, Aletha couldn't help but fume slightly over how she had been treated through this whole thing. First there was the mention, when she came home from Hogwarts to find her mother deathly sick and fading, that she'd been this way for months but Dad didn't want to distract her from her studies . . . now he wasn't really believing a magical indicator she _knew_ didn't lie, and if they didn't hurry Mum might—

_No. I will not say it. I will not even think it. Mum will be fine, she's gotten sick before—remember last summer?_

_But this is worse,_ whispered a voice in a far corner of her mind, the one she had been trying to suppress. _Much worse, and I know it. I just hope . . . if it's that bad . . . that I can at least say—_

Aletha's eyes were becoming suspiciously watery by this point, but she refused to allow them to progress any further. _Level-headed, level-headed, come on, Letha . . ._

They drove on.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was undoubtedly much less, the Freemans arrived at the hospital. Aletha opened the door and bolted from the car before her father had even turned the engine off; after a quick consultation with the receptionist, she dashed up three flights of stairs to the ward where she knew her mother would be found.

"Are you Teresa Freeman's daughter?" asked a doctor coming out of said ward.

Aletha skidded to a stop to answer him, not really that surprised; the family resemblance among the Freemans was uncanny. "Yes, I'm Aletha. How is she?"

The doctor sighed. "I won't lie to you. She's not doing well, and we have no idea how to reverse it this time. It just seems like she's losing vitality . . . You can go in if you want, though, she's not under surgery or anything."

"Thank you." Aletha ran to the door, then opened it quietly and walked in.

"Hi, Mum," she said, faltering only slightly as she walked to her mother's bedside. She wasn't obviously injured or anything, but she still looked, quite frankly, terrible: pale and gaunt, breaths not coming easily.

Teresa Freeman turned her head to look at her daughter with what seemed a great effort. "Hi yourself, Letha . . ." Aletha wasn't prepared for the change in her voice; it sounded so fragile, so _weak_, like it might break any second. "Where's your dad?"

"Parking the car." Aletha felt herself tear up again. "I couldn't wait to see you, I was so worried!"

"With good reason . . . probably . . . Letha, honey, I'm really not doing too well."

"I can see that, Mum."

"The doctors say they don't know what I have . . . You're shivering, Letha," Teresa noticed. "What's wrong?"

Detachedly, Aletha realized that yes, she actually _was_ shivering, and it seemed like the coldness against her chest was getting more pronounced. Cupping a hand over them so as not to startle her mother, she willed her pendants to pass through her clothes and held out the first one for her mother to see. "These are magical pendants, Mum," she said. "I got them this past year. They get hot when someone's under emotional duress, or cold when they're in danger of— dying—"

"Oh, Letha . . ." Teresa said softly. She took a closer look at the pendant. "I'm the feather, aren't I? For the hawks and falcons I work with . . . I hope there'll be other people who take care of them when I'm gone . . ."

"No, Mum, don't say that! You'll be fine!"

"I won't, Letha," her mother said sadly. "And it all goes back to that . . ." Teresa's eyes unfocused slightly as she began her story. "When I was little, I used to always want to be a doctor, to heal . . . I found out about the rehabilitation programs in secondary school, and I guess I decided that would be how I did that."

Aletha nodded. She had heard the story before, and in much greater detail; it was one of her mother's favorites to tell. The door creaked behind her as William Freeman walked into the room, but all Aletha's attention was fixed upon the face of her mother.

"But there's more, Letha," Teresa went on. "When I started . . . I used to be able to heal the birds just by touching them. I thought it was wonderful, I was so proud of what I was doing for them. . . . But it took its toll. I would feel tired, listless even, if I did too much, almost like it was pulling energy from places it shouldn't . . . So I decided to stop. Maybe a year after I started. I tried not to touch the birds too much, and to rein in my desire to help them . . . because that's what would bring it out. And I'm sure that year is part of what made me this way now . . ."

Aletha was crying silently now, the tears falling unheeded onto the purest-white sheets of Teresa's hospital bed. Her father looked terribly stricken.

"Just promise me, Letha," Teresa said, her voice even fainter, but with a hint of urgency that hadn't been present before. "Promise you won't do the same thing I did to yourself . . . promise you won't try to do the impossible . . ."

"I promise, Mum," Aletha sobbed. "I promise."

And on the hospital bed beside her, Teresa Freeman smiled slightly, closed her eyes, and breathed her last in peace.

* * *

Aletha wasn't sure how long she knelt there, not moving, trying to avoid being crushed by the enormity of what just had happened. _Mum died. Mum's a Ravenclaw Heir. Being a Ravenclaw Heir killed her._

_Could this day get any worse?_

Finally, William Freeman walked over to his daughter. "Come on, Letha," he said softly. "Stand up, now. You can do it."

Aletha did so, leaning on him slightly for support. She had her crying under control now, but it hadn't seemed to do anything about the hole she felt roughly where her heart should be.

William took a step back. Blinking, Aletha stood straight and looked at him, her heart sinking as she noticed his expression. _Dad always deals with bad news by retreating into himself . . ._

"Aletha," he said, his voice sounding forced. "What your mother said—about how this had happened, it was—that _magic_ that made her that way, wasn't it?"

Aletha wanted to protest, to explain, to say it was a gift gone wrong, maybe to hope it had something to do with Teresa being a Muggle with a magical gift—

But all that required enough calm to form a coherent argument, and Aletha wasn't feeling that at the moment. Detachedly, she nodded.

"You're leaving it behind, then." The firmness of her father's tone took her completely by surprise. "I've always supported you in this, you know that. But when _this_ is what your _gift_ does to people—" He practically spat the word. "I will not stand for it. I _will not_." His voice broke. "I care about you too much," he finished simply.

_That_ broke through Aletha's barriers.

"No, Dad." The words were spoken softly, but with absolute conviction. "I'm staying."

"But Letha—"

"Don't you 'but Letha' me!" Aletha shouted angrily. She sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just— Mum _died_ just now. _Died_." It was terrible how much it hurt to say those words. "Are you going to take away my friends, my school, my _life_ on top of that?"

"You'll find new friends, a new school, it'll be better—"

"_This is who I am_," Aletha interrupted angrily. She took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions. "In less than four months," she said softly, controlling herself with great effort, "I will be seventeen years old. As of November 28, I will be a legal adult in the wizarding world. After that point, _you can't stop me_." Her voice rose slightly. "And if you _still_ try to spirit me away, I will hate you all the more for it once I'm free. _This. Is. My. Life._ Do you understand that?"

After a long moment, William Freeman sighed. "Yes, yes, I think I do. Letha— do you have some friends you could stay with or something? I just think I need some time to work all this out . . ."

_Yes,_ Aletha wanted to shout. _YOU!_ But what she actually said was, "Yeah, a bunch of my friends are together this summer. The address is 'Potter Manor', you can send stuff by 3M." 3M was Muggle-to-Magical Mail, a mail forwarding service that worked from P.O. Box 313 of the various London post offices. Aletha stood on tiptoes to give her dad a kiss. "Come back soon," she said quietly, walking briskly out the door.

_I can't believe him! Right when we need each other most as a family, he—_

_I'll deal with it,_ Aletha realized. _Just like I deal with everything. The Pack'll be supportive, they know what this feels like . . ._

_I shouldn't've temped fate before,_ she thought ruefully. _Today _did _get worse._

* * *

"Oh, Aletha, we'd love to have you," Mrs. Potter said after Aletha had stumbled out of their fireplace and dejectedly explained herself. "You can take the third room on the right, just up the stairs. And you're welcome to stay as long as you need to."

Aletha nodded, entered said room, trunk in hand (she had Flooed to Number 71 from the Leaky Cauldron, which happened to be close to the hospital, to get it, and from there to Potter Manor) and collapsed on the bed.

A minute later, she stood up and strode out of the room. _Hate having company, hate being alone, hate staying still, hate walking . . ._

And strode directly into someone.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered as she took a step back to get a look at the face of the unfortunate person she had bumped into. _Probably be Mr. Potter, that'd be just my luck today . . ._

It was Sirius Black. "Hey," he said, looking concerned.

Aletha was in the perfect mood to give him a scathing glare and walk away, but for some reason that just seemed like too much unnecessary effort at the moment. "Hey yourself," she muttered instead.

Sirius frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Aletha whispered angrily.

Sirius laid a hand on her shoulder. "Letha, you _have_ to talk about it. Especially if it's bothering you this much."

Aletha remained silent.

"What, you're not even slapping me for shortening your name? Merlin, it _must_ be bad."

"My mum—" And with that she was off, pouring out the events of the past few hours, her mother's final exhortation, her father's closed-mindedness, . . . It wasn't possible to hold it all in and stay sane, she realized. She needed _someone_ to reassure her, _someone_ to tell her things would be all right.

And unlikely as it certainly seemed, chance picked that person as Sirius Black. Whose shoulder, Aletha now noticed, she was crying on. She backed away suddenly.

"It'll be all right—" Sirius said softly. "Or not." He sighed and sat down on the top step; Aletha joined him, a comfortable distance away. "Look, I won't even pretend to understand how it feels—the only person I've lost in this war was Uncle Alphard, and even though he meant a lot to me, I didn't really know him enough to grieve terribly, as insensitive as that sounds. But this was your _mum_—" Sirius broke off. "I guess I really don't know what to say," he finished lamely.

Aletha managed a weak smile. "That's a first for you, Sirius." She sighed deeply. "Thanks. I needed someone to talk to, and you happened to be it, and you listened, and that's what I needed, and— just thanks."

The two stared into space for a long while.

Sirius broke the silence. "So, have the inhabitants of the Lions' Lair been keeping you up-to-date on recent news?"

Aletha shrugged. _Good to be talking about something else for a change._ "Harry sent me the letter inviting me to den-night, and obviously we talked then, but not much more than that, no. Is there something I'm missing?"

Sirius gave a wicked grin. "Only that Harry got embarrassed to within an inch of his life, or so Ron tells me. Apparently Ron thought the bond made Harry and Ginny pretty much married, so he offered to let them share a room . . ."

Aletha laughed. "And we both know how Harry is. I can just imagine the look on his face." She turned to level a mock glare at the Marauder. "Was that note _really_ the only thing you gave Harry for his birthday?"

"Hey, laughter is the best medicine, you know!" Sirius said, waving a finger.

"I'll grant you that," Aletha said with a smile. "Just try to be a bit more creative when November 28 rolls around, all right?"

Sirius looked nonchalant, but she could tell he had taken a careful mental note of the information. "And don't _you_ forget February 14 either!"

Aletha looked at him sharply. _I can't believe him—_

"My birthday," he explained quickly. "You don't think my middle name's for nothing, do you? My— I hate that name," he grumbled.

_Oh. Whoops._

_Sirius is right. Laughter really _is _the best medicine._

_And beneath his mischief-making, he really does know how to act when it matters, like just now . . ._

A small voice in the corner of Aletha's mind spoke up. _D'you think you might be a tad unjustified in hating him so fiercely?_

_Sure. But only a tad._

_For now, at least. I'll see how he improves._

* * *

"You know," Ginny remarked a few days later, "if you want to get that locket, now'd be the perfect time to do it."

Harry looked at her curiously. "Why now?"

"Because I'm turning seventeen in a few days, and you said Voldemort's magic didn't recognize underage wizards or witches too well," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry did a double take. "You want to _come_?"

"Well obviously I want to come, Harry James Potter!" Ginny said indignantly. "D'you think I'm going to let you go trapising off in Voldemort's self-made traps yourself?"

"All right, all right, fine. When do you want to go?"

"How about right now? It's broad daylight—best time to do it, in my opinion."

And so it was that, barely a minute later and with only a few words to Ron about "going out for a while," the two found themselves at the entrance to the cave Harry had walked into and out of that fateful night about fourteen months ago.

They walked in. Almost immediately, Harry sensed something—_wrong_ with the surroundings. They were twisted, warped somehow—

**You feel it too?** Ginny asked via their mental link. The cave seemed foreboding enough to inhibit speech.

**Yeah. I always wondered how Dumbledore found the entrance. Guess I couldn't feel it last time because I was so wet . . .** It wasn't all that hard to find, truly; it was the spot of the greatest concentration of the wrongness.

**It feels like the diary,** Ginny said with a shiver.

Harry almost suggested they turn back at that point, but he knew Ginny would have roasted him alive for even suggesting it. Pulling a small silver knife from his pocket, he made a small cut in his palm and allowed the blood to flow onto the rock before him. _Just like with the pendants, except completely opposite._

**Harry, what're you—**

**Opening the entrance.**

Sure enough, the archway glowed, just as it had before, and the rock beneath it disappeared.

**Voldemort's _sick_,** Ginny proclaimed.

**And thus easily predictable. Come on, let's go.**

If he hadn't been there with Dumbledore in what was now the future, Harry was sure he never could have managed to raise the boat. The magic traces were surely there, if the Headmaster could detect them, but they were far more minute than Harry's senses could discern.

However, the chain's invisibility didn't coincide with intangibility, and once Harry reached the right spot he was able to find it just by groping around in midair. Soon enough, he and Ginny were in the boat, which threatened to tip over at any minute, zooming toward the island in the center of the cavern.

**Don't look down, don't look down . . .** he heard Ginny say. Evidently she was thinking rather loudly about that.

Harry couldn't fault her for it, considering he was thinking roughly the same thing.

The boat stopped suddenly. Harry stepped out of it, his shoes clacking on the rocky formation smoothed by the lapping of centuries' worth of water currents. _I really doubt Voldemort actually created this place . . ._

_The potion, though, is his._

Harry walked over to the green-glowing basin at the small island's center, Ginny close behind him. He drew his wand, concentrated, and waved it in an intricate pattern over the basin's top. "_Creperum ostium exemo!_"

Nothing happened.

Harry felt himself grow in rage. How _dare_ it not work. He and Hermione had worked so hard on this! It was their only chance!

**Harry, what—** Ginny's voice inquired.

Harry slammed a mental door. _Not now, Ginny. Not now._ Ginny took a step back, shocked.

Just when he felt about ready to lash out in frustration, Harry's scar gave a twinge and the potion's green color grew tenfold in brightness, to the degree that it illuminated the walls of the cavern quite clearly. Then, just as suddenly, it was over and the potion now shone blue. Triumphant, Harry reached his hand in and, encountering no resistance, pulled out the locket.

A quick glance showed the ornate serpentine _S_ was in place. "Yes!" he shouted, forgetting his location. "We did it!" Harry took the fake locket out of his pocket, the note from "R.A.B." carefully folded inside, and dropped it into the basin. With a quick _Finite_, the potion turned green again.

Carefully tucking the real Horcrux into a pocket of his robes, Harry took a step toward the boat.

Something cold and lifeless held his legs in place.

He cursed fluidly, mentally, in a few different languages. _Inferi._

"Inferi!" Ginny shouted, echoing his fear, but she added a suggestion: "Use the fire power!"

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Harry would've slapped himself. _Fire! Encircle me and Ginny. Do not attack either of us, but drive back these dead bodies._

A ring of flame appeared, doing exactly as he commanded. It started very close to them and expanded out to surround the whole island.

The two took several deep, shaky breaths. "That could've gone worse," Harry muttered.

"Agreed." Ginny looked at him oddly. "Harry, what made you close your connection to me? I could understand, I guess, but it still came as kind of a shock."

Harry sighed. "Gin, I felt like I was drawing on the darkest, worst part of myself to fool that magic into thinking I was Voldemort. It wasn't at all pleasant. I just didn't want you to have to feel that."

"Oh, Harry. Here, I know how to make it better."

She leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

_Not the most romantic surroundings, but hey, it works . . ._

The fire around them flared.

"There, better thoughts now?" Ginny teased.

"Much," Harry said with a fleeting smile. His expression turned somber again. "I think we should destroy this thing here," he said, taking the locket out of his pocket and placing it carefully on the stone floor, a safe distance away from the basin. "I'm already getting a little tired holding this fire up, and I don't want to know what other traps Voldemort has in store for us . . ."

Ginny walked over and took Harry's left hand with her right, adjusting her wand to fit in her left.

**On three. One . . . two . . . THREE!** "AVADA KEDAVRA!" two voices shouted. Two jets of bright green light erupted from two wands and converged on the locket lying before them. There was a ripping sound, a shrill scream, and the light faded. By the green glow of the basin and the orange-red of the fire around them, they could see the locket had cracked.

**That was barely noticeable compared to the first one,** Harry noted, breathing heavily but otherwise unaffected. **Guess it works better with two people.**

**Now aren't you glad I came?**

**Very.**

He kept the ring of fire up, at a smaller size, to keep the two of them safe as they crossed the lake and exited the cavern. Each under their own power, they Apparated back to the Lair.

_Three down, two to go!_

* * *

The next weeks passed in an odd mixture of sadness and joy. Teresa Freeman's funeral and the reading of Alphard Black's will fell on the same day, which was probably the worst of the lot. Aletha's father remained grief-stricken, magophobic, and distant, telling Aletha only that he would try to get himself pulled together "soon", and Sirius's parents were so incensed by Alphard's leaving the majority of his fortune to him that they blasted the late Black off the family tapestry . . .

"And he was the only family member who ever really cared about me," Sirius said afterward. "Except Andromeda, of course, but Mum and Dad wouldn't let her in the house. Just goes to show you what idiots my folks are . . ."

It was also during this time, to a rather happier tune, that John and Katherine Lupin returned from their vacation, and Remus and Danger were able to go _home_ for what might be the last extended period in a while.

"Because you're graduating next year, Remus, and we know how busy you can get," Katherine explained, glad to be together as a family again. "I almost feel like I'm getting to know you again, you've changed so much since you met Danger . . . All in good ways, of course." The Lupins had taken to Danger immediately, and they had managed to rearrange things at the Cottage to free up a spare room for her.

_Which is good, because although I find Harry and Ginny's situation rather amusing, the fact remains that they _are _a year older than us. Not to mention I doubt my parents would use Ron Weasley logic on that one._ (Despite Harry and Ginny's half-hearted efforts to stop its spread, the whole Pack knew of the tale by now.)

But by far the most invigorating event—the event that even managed to pull Aletha out of her stupor—was Ron and Hermione's wedding. The two had set a date for August 20, and, coordinating with Dumbledore, had booked the Great Hall. Now was the time for every female in the Pack (all of whom would be bridesmaids) to become ecstatic over the minutest of details as the males smiled indulgently and answered their excited questions as succinctly as possible. In short, it was business as usual for a wedding; considering the times, it was probably the best end-of-summer event anyone could have planned.

And, of course, hundreds of Hogwarts letters made their way across the country to eager students. Two among them attracted especial attention. One would be delivering something _highly_ unexpected.

"It's— _heavy,_" James said as he untied the letter from the leg of a regal-looking tawny owl. "And sharp around the edges . . ."

Charles Potter smiled proudly, but said nothing. _Who'd've thought . . ._

"They must've sent you Moony's letter by mistake," Sirius said, shaking his head sadly, but with a teasing glint in his eyes.. "With the Head Boy badge and all . . ."

Chuckling at his best friend, James opened the letter—and gaped as something gold caught the light and fell to the ground. He reached down and picked it up, staring unblinkingly at the very clearly engraved letters _HB_. "Unbelievable . . ." he muttered. "It _is_ that, Padfoot. Just unbelievable. Picking the second-most notorious prankster in the school as _Head Boy_? Well, we always knew Dumbledore was off his marbles . . ."

Charles stepped forward, placed a hand on James's shoulder, and looked him directly in the eye. "I told you I was proud of you, didn't I?" he asked sincerely.

"Yeah, you did, but I never would've thought . . ."

"Professor Dumbledore sees things in us that we don't see in ourselves sometimes," Charles said, answering James's unasked question. "He did it for me, he did it for you, and I'm sure if you asked Harry he'd tell you the same thing. No one really knows how, but he just— _understands_ people, I guess, especially his students. Probably something to do with his century and a quarter of life." He laughed slightly. "More than a bit eccentric, to be sure, but he's not mad. James, if he gave you Head Boy, you deserve it."

"Thanks, Dad."

_Well, this is _definitely _the end of an era,_ James thought bemusedly. _Marauding in moderation, now. Or, as Sirius would say, 'only when they can't figure out it's you'._

_But then again, we all need some laughs every so often . . ._

As if on cue, Sirius burst out in laughter. James cocked his head at him. "What is it?"

"Remember what Lily said to you at the beginning of last year, back when we were all being kind of prats?"

_Ah, yes. 'I'm about as likely to go out with you as you are to get Head Boy, James Potter!' Guess she got proven right in the end, though I'm pretty sure it wasn't meant as an expression of support at the time . . ._

James joined his friend in renewed chuckling.

* * *

(A/N: Change of plans: _Variations_ will go through October 31, **1978**. Too little plot, too much time, forced a story squeeze. I like my new outline far better than my old one.) 


	5. Changes in the Wind

**Chapter 5: Changes in the Wind**.

All the Pack and then some were gathered in the living room of the Lions' Lair.

It was a very special day. Today, Saturday, August 20, 1977, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were going to be married.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Harry said, shaking his head ruefully. "Everyone knew you two were meant for each other except the two of you. Between the Yule Brawl and Won-Won's antics in sixth year—"

"Save it for the speech, mate," interrupted Ron, blushing madly but grinning nonetheless. "And I agree. Couldn't be happier I finally got my head on straight."

Danger frowned, remembering something. "Er— isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding or something? I'm sure I heard that once . . ."

Ginny chuckled. "Danger, do you _really_ think Hermione would stand for any sort of superstition like that? Come on, now. This is Miss Dropped-Divination-In-Disgust we're talking about here."

Danger nodded and opened her mouth to respond, but a yawn came out instead. "I feel really tired all of a sudden," she said, stifling another yawn and slumping noticeably. "Is it okay if I take a little nap? The wedding's not for another two hours . . ."

"Sure, go ahead," Hermione said. "And don't worry, we'll wake you up if you oversleep. It's not like you can have a wedding without a maid of honor anyway." (Ron had picked Harry as best man, and all of the Pack were serving in some capacity or another, either as bridesmaids or ushers.)

Conversation continued on as Danger left the room to trudge upstairs, almost tripping on the first step. Molly Weasley subject Hermione to an almost embarrassingly diverse array of questions as Arthur looked on in amusement. (The time-travelers had taken a night to visit the Burrow and explain all to the Weasley patriarch, whose minimal presence in the Order made everything a whole lot easier to get across.)

Finally, about half an hour later, Danger walked back in, looking much more rested. She motioned for the four time-travelers to join her, and they did so, walking into the kitchen for a bit of privacy.

"All right," Danger said once the door had been shut. "That wasn't normal sleep."

Harry and Ron looked puzzled, Ginny on the verge of understanding, while Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh! You mean you had a prophecy?"

"Well, almost. Here, see for yourselves." Danger passed her pendant chain around all of their necks, and immediately Harry felt something play out in his brain. It wasn't a scene, or words, or colors, or anything really describable; it was more of an _understanding_ . . .

_I wonder, is this how Danger knew the ceremony for the oath we took?_

**Yes.**

**Oh, these link your minds too. I forgot.**

Smiling broadly, the five returned to the living room.

* * *

Hermione paced the small antechamber to the Great Hall. Side, front, side, back, side, front, side, back, . . .

"Calm down, Hermione," Danger said with a laugh. "He's not going to stand you up or anything, honest!"

_Logically, of course, I know that. Thing is, not everything in life is logical._

_And if you had told me that six years ago, I would've laughed in your face._

Music started up inside the Hall, echoing slightly through the doors. James stood up. "That's our cue," he said briefly, taking Lily by the arm as they both walked into the Hall and down the aisle. The other bridesmaids and ushers walked in as well, a suitable distance from each other.

_Sirius and Aletha together, even,_ Hermione noticed as if in a haze. _A month ago, they would've balked at even touching each other._

She had to smile at that. _Sounds an awful lot like another couple I know. Rather personally, in fact._

The music changed slightly, and Danger, as maid of honor, stood and walked alone into the Hall, leaving Hermione alone in the room.

_I'm glad Danger was willing to be maid of honor for me. I almost asked Ginny, but Danger's my sister in this time, and I really feel like she's the only one who can understand me sometimes . . ._

_I wonder how long it'll be until she's in my position?_

Hermione laughed aloud. "Oh, look at me, not even officially married yet and I'm already playing matchmaker. Bit early for that."

The music entering dimly into the silent room became a processional, and she heard a deafening shuffling noise as the crowd rose to its feet.

_This is it._

Hermione thrust open the doors and began her slow walk towards the teachers' dais, upon which she could see Ron standing alongside Harry and her bridesmaids off to the other side. She tried to make eye contact with the former, but was foiled by the presence of an object in the way. _Gah. Stupid veil._

_But tradition is tradition, and Molly would throw a fit if we left that out._

_Well, we're not being _entirely _traditional,_ Hermione figured as she walked. _Some would probably say it's odd, me not being given away by anyone. But honestly, I've always been fiercely independent, and in this time I don't _have _any father figures. Much as I wish that were different._ A few tears threatened to leak out. _I so wish Dad could've been here today . . . he would've loved to see me like this . . ._

But thoughts of what would come pushed out laments of losses past, and Hermione's smile grew tremendously. And if anyone noticed the slight moisture in her eyes—well, they would just ascribe it to her joy at the event.

_And it's true. I _am _happy. Happier than I think I've ever been in my life._

She ascended the few steps to the dais. Dumbledore, who had offered to officiate, lifted her veil as she turned to face Ron Weasley.

_I don't think I've ever seen him this happy, either._

_Who would've guessed?_

"We are gathered together here today," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying throughout the Hall, "to celebrate as Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger dedicate their lives to one another.

"Love is a precious, wonderful thing." From most people, the words might have sounded cheesy and fake; from Professor Dumbledore, somehow, they were infused with deep meaning. "Love holds us together. Love does not judge. Love stands proud. And love blossoms even in the worst of times, even when all else seems to fail." He paused, looking around the room at the sizeable crowd that had gathered—Hogwarts teachers, a gaggle of red-haired Weasleys from all around the country, most of the Order members, and quite a few students.

"It takes a special kind of courage to embark on such a life-changing adventure—for adventures all marriages are, filled with joy and sadness, good times and bad, nothing truly known in advance—in the face of the darkness that plagues our world. There are those who would refuse to make the most of their finite lives, who would live in fear and so give the forces of darkness exactly what they seek, but none will you find in this room. True love can overcome all barriers. It makes us stronger, not weaker; it does not endanger lives, it enriches them; it is the one thing Voldemort—" the obligatory gasps and shivers, but far fewer than Hermione would have expected— "can never understand. Love is the greatest part of what makes us human, and today, we are gathered to celebrate it."

Dumbledore stepped back.

_I know we rehearsed this, but I never expected it to be so nerve-wracking! All the words to get in just the right order . . ._

If Ron had any such qualms, he kept them to himself. He began speaking, confidently and carryingly, looking tenderly at Hermione as he said the words Sirius had helped them compose.

"I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, do on this twentieth day of August, 1977, give myself as husband to Hermione Jane Granger. I swear to love her and only her as a husband should love his wife, and to name our children heirs to all that I possess, including a father's love. I swear to support her with my gold and my bronze, to fly by her side in clear skies and in fog, to remain with her always in good times and in bad, until death does part us, though that shall not be for long." He reached down into his pocket—and found nothing. Panicking, he turned to look around.

Harry was holding the ring about three inches from his right hand.

_Whoops._

_Oh, what the hell. Who cares?_

Recovering, Ron took it and finished his vows. "And in token of this oath, I give her this ring, engraved with her name and mine and this date of our marriage." Ron reached over and gently slid the ring onto Hermione's left hand ring finger.

_I was amazed at how much Sirius knew about this,_ she thought idly. _I guess some of the pureblood traditions really are quite meaningful._

Smiling brightly, Hermione repeated the same vows, with obvious substitutions. "And in token of this oath, I give him this ring, engraved with his name and mine and this date of our marriage." Ron's rather thicker band, which she had _not_ forgotten Danger had, went on without a hitch.

Danger handed Hermione her wand, as Harry handed Ron his. _And now for the most important part . . ._ Looking briefly at each other for confirmation, the young couple placed their wands tip-to-tip and spoke in unison. "And so this day do we bind our magic, lives, and souls together. My hand in yours, my heart with yours, my life for yours, now and forever!"

A small, smokeless red flame formed on the tip of Ron's wand, a blue one on the tip of Hermione's, and in the space of about a second the flames mixed into a slightly larger violet-colored one, flickering brightly. Dumbledore stepped forward, placing the tip of his own wand against the pair. "As you have spoken, as you intend, so let it be done," he said. "From this day forward, where there were two, let there now be one."

The purple flame became a burst of golden light, making the audience exclaim. Less than a second later, no evidence remained of the magic wrought.

Dumbledore stepped back slightly and spread his arms in an encompassing gesture. "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley. You may kiss the bride."

_Tomorrow it'll be back to worrying,_ Hermione thought. _Back to the real world, where nothing is sure and Death Eaters attack almost daily. But today—today can be perfect._

As the two leaned forward and Hermione lost herself momentarily in that sometimes-slightly-immature but kind-hearting and caring soul the world called Ronald Weasley, she couldn't help hoping, faintly, that tomorrow would never come.

* * *

Within a few minutes, and thanks to some magic of Dumbledore's, the Great Hall had been converted into the perfect venue for a wedding reception. Tables appeared at the sides of the room, the chairs floated over to line the walls or disappeared entirely, and just as in the feasts at Hogwarts, food magically appeared on all the platters.

None of the Pack were witness to this transformation, though. By unspoken consent, all twelve of them made their way to the small room behind the teachers' dais directly after the completion of the ceremony. They sat in a circle, recalling memories of four months passed. Eight faces shot inquisitive glances toward Harry.

He cleared his throat and said, formally but fondly, "We have just witnessed the joining in marriage of two of our number, Ron and Hermione. They have sworn to each other and to the world; now, we are gathered to reaffirm that commitment, between them and between all of us, as it resonates within the bonds of the Pack. None of us stands apart."

Harry took a small knife and cloth out of his pocket and passed them to Ron, who sat on his right; Ron cut his hand and blotted it with the cloth before passing it to Hermione, who did the same. They took off their pendants and rings, making a small red-and-gold pile in the middle of the circle.

Harry nodded. "Now all join hands and speak three times that oath which binds us," he said. "Remember what we have, and look toward what we just have gained."

The Pack joined hands and began to recite.

The tingling was less pronounced this time for most of the Pack, but it was still there, reaffirming their rare and powerful kinship. For Ron and Hermione, though, it was even more powerful than remembered, seeming to draw them closer together and weave their new bond into the threads of the Pack—

"_My hand in yours,_

"_My wand with yours,_

"_My life for yours,_

"_Now and forever!_"

Just as last time they had sworn, the pile was engulfed momentarily in flames as the Pack-magic reached a climax. Ron and Hermione blinked, looking amazed and enraptured respectively; they felt _complete_ now, in a way they never could begin to describe.

Pendants were grabbed and returned to their owners; as she took hers, Hermione noticed a few tiny stars gracing the engraving of the hawk, and a fifth pendant, blank, with another jewel on it . . .

_No need to worry about that. Now is the time to have fun!_

As one, the Pack stood and filed quietly back into the Great Hall.

It is often said that one of the most important duties of the best man is to make a memorable speech at the newly married couple's reception. It is never said, but universally known, that such a speech is incomplete unless it succeeds in embarrassing one or, preferably, both parties.

At the wedding reception for the newest Weasleys, Harry Potter succeeded in both respects.

* * *

The reception was excellent and went on for hours. In accordance with tradition, Ron and Hermione had the first dance (to the tune of "Could I Have This Dance"). They barely left each other's arms the whole night, and Harry and Ginny weren't much better.

Ginny was the one to catch the bouquet.

**Well, well, well,** she said teasingly. **I guess we know what _this_ means, now don't we? August 11, 1978, here we come!**

Harry gaped at her for a few seconds before settling for a wide smile. **I should've expected something so spontaneous,** he commented ruefully. A bit of self-doubt crept in. **Er, did you really mean that?**

**Of course.** The response couldn't've been firmer, and it lacked that echoing tone they had discovered indicated a lie. **You already know I did—do, Harry.** She paused for a second, thinking, a smile on her face. **Let's make it official later,** she said suddenly.

By now, Harry knew better than to protest when Ginny got an idea ingrained in her head, except for the gravest of reasons. Embarrassment didn't count.

_And it's not like I wasn't going to do this eventually. Why not now? Carpe diem, I think I heard it called once. 'Seize the day.' Well, my life could do with some seizing._

In response, Ginny sent a mental giggle, a **You think too loud, love,** and something unrepeatable that made Harry blush spectacularly. **Later. Mum'll be ecstatic, and I _assume_ Dad won't rip you to pieces . . .**

They laughed aloud.

A bit later, when things were starting to die down, Professor Dumbledore approached the two of them, who were sitting on one of the side benches. "Hello, Harry," he said. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely, Professor." Despite the offer, Harry really hadn't been able to get the hang of calling the wise old wizard by his first name. It just felt wrong. "Thank you so much for helping with the arrangements and letting us celebrate here. It worked out wonderfully." _Not to mention alleviating my own best-man duties a ton,_ he added mentally.

"It did, didn't it?" Dumbledore said. "And it really was no trouble at all, Harry. Joyous events such as these are precious few within our walls. But I digress. I wished to discuss with you some arrangements for next year."

Harry dropped Ginny's hand and looked attentively at the Headmaster.

"Our pre-term staff meeting is tomorrow," he continued. "I am sure you have noticed the presence of most of our faculty here; not all wished to attend the wedding, but all save you are currently lodged here. Professor Slughorn just arrived today, in fact. If you are willing, I would take this moment to show you your office and quarters. Ginny may come as well, if she wishes."

Harry smiled; Dumbledore had arranged a meeting earlier in the summer to discuss with Harry the basics of his job and get a textbook choice from him, but this was the first he would be seeing of it outside the Headmaster's Office. "Thanks, Professor! I'd love to."

Walking out of the Great Hall, Dumbledore showed them to the staffroom (sixth floor, tap the pencil embedded in the wall to get in) and Harry's quarters (fourth floor, a few minutes' walk from the Headmaster's office). Harry noticed in surprise that the portrait guarding them was familiar. "Hello, Maura."

"Hi there, Harry," she responded genially. "Is my youngest Heir going to be teaching Defense this year?"

"Why, I do believe he is, Lady Maura," Dumbledore said politely. "Might we impose upon you to guard his quarters?"

"Of course!" said the red-robed lady in the picture frame. "I'd love to. Would you like to set a password now?"

Harry thought for a second. "How about 'Voldemort'? It seems fitting for a Defense teacher, plus no one ever says it."

"Excellent, 'Voldemort' it will be. And I will give no indication of my connection to you during the year unless you ask me to do so. Your Heirship, after all, is something of a tactical advantage if it is unknown."

"Thank you, Maura. Voldemort." The portrait swung open on its hinges, and Harry climbed into what proved to be a suite of rooms—bathroom to the far left, an alcove with a table that could be used to eat at, a large fireplace on the far wall with a door to its left that led to a bedroom decorated in best Hogwarts style straight ahead, and a small common room of sofas and such in the middle of it all.

"This is great! Thank you, Professor."

"The pleasure is mine." His eyes twinkled madly. "And in light of the bond between you, if Miss Weasley wishes to, shall we say, 'visit' for extended periods of time, I will not object. It is up to her to resolve the situation with her roommates in Gryffindor Tower, however."

Both Harry and Ginny blushed. "Er, thanks, Professor."

"But of course. Harry, your office is through that door to the right; you should find the basics there, and anything specific by way of décor is at your discretion. Our opening staff meeting is tomorrow at nine o'clock in the staffroom; until then, you are free. Enjoy the rest of the night." He turned and left the room.

The remaining residents capitalized on the obvious opportunity.

Harry and Ginny returned to the reception in the Great Hall about half an hour later, looking slightly mussed and sporting identical grins. Just as they entered, a slow song started. Harry took Ginny in his arms as they moved out onto the dance floor, focusing solely on each other's eyes.

_And the lyrics couldn't fit better,_ thought Harry quietly. '_And now that you're in my life, I'm so glad I'm alive, 'cause you showed me the way . . .' Absolute truth, I don't know if I could live without her. Survive, maybe, but not _live _like the prophecy says._

_I am so lucky._

As the song wound to a close, Harry came to a split-second decision. Right there, in the center of the dance floor, he took Ginny's hands in his own and dropped to one knee.

Ginny looked down at him, an amazed smile on her face. She wasn't the only one looking—Harry's action was turning many, _many_ heads, a lot of which had red hair on them—but she was the only one Harry cared about at the moment.

_Time to vocalize those thoughts._

"Ginny," he said simply, his voice filled with emotion. "I don't think you have any idea just how much you mean to me—how much I love you. You've always been there for me when I needed it. You bring out a part of me I tend to lose sight of sometimes, you make me feel _complete_, I guess, . . . and I honestly can't imagine the rest of my life without you in it."

Harry didn't know it, but most of the crowd was on tenterhooks, having sensed where this was going. Ron and Hermione looked ecstatic. Molly wore a proud smile. Even Professor McGonagall was smiling.

He forged on. "And—I know we're still young, but I really feel like this is the right thing to do, so I'm asking . . .Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you marry me?"

Ginny's radiant expression was answer enough. She pulled Harry up into a bone-crushing hug, murmuring, "Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Harry . . ."

The guests broke into applause. Harry and Ginny blushed, but nothing could erase the ear-to-ear grins from their faces.

A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione stood on one of the tables. The vibrant chatter quieted. "Thank you," said Ron. "Me and Hermione are going to be leaving on our honeymoon pretty soon. But first, we'd like to thank you _all_ for being here, for supporting us, and for helping make this day into such a special one. And especially to Professor Dumbledore and the Hogwarts house elves—" Hermione beamed— "who created a great ceremony on very short notice."

Harry stood up on a table across from them. "Here's to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley, and best wishes for the future!"

"And to you and Ginny, Harry!" Hermione said back, smiling widely. Fawkes appeared above their heads, flew over to the newly married couple, and all three disappeared in a flash of flame.

The Lions' Lair went unoccupied that night.

* * *

The next day, Harry sat in a chair between Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, nervous but exuding an air of confidence.

_I have absolutely no idea what to do here._

_Of course, improvising is what I do best._

Headmaster Dumbledore, sitting at the head of the table, cleared his throat. "Hello to you all, and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts. The Head Boy and Girl this year are James Potter and Lily Evans, both Gryffindors. There are several items on our agenda, most having to do with security issues, but first I would like to introduce Professor Harry Potter, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the year, as well as Professor Sibyll Trelawney, who will be starting in earnest as Divination teacher."

Professor Sprout broke in. "Headmaster, wasn't Harry one of my students last year?"

"Indeed he was," Dumbledore said. "He is also more than qualified for the post, I assure you. Now, near the end of last year, we experienced a devastating Death Eater attack during a Hogsmeade weekend. Thankfully, no students were killed; in the future, we may not be so lucky. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

"Might it be best to just cancel Hogsmeade weekends, Albus?" asked Professor Sprout frankly. "I know the students would hate it, but honestly, I think it's better they be alive than happy."

"Such a measure seems extreme to me," Professor McGonagall said. "I understand that we are at war, but truly, shutting ourselves in the castle should be a last resort. A great degree of You-Know-Who's power rests in fear; he has attacked us once, and whether he does so again or not, he has won if he has forced us to give up a cornerstone of the social atmosphere of our students! Surely there must be other steps we could take, to protect without quarantining."

Dumbledore sighed. "These are the same arguments I have grappled with personally," he said. "Truly, there is no adequate solution. We cannot send the students into danger, nor can we so stifle them."

"Professor?" Harry suggested. "Voldemort only knows about the Hogsmeade weekends because they're public knowledge. Any student with Death Eater sympathies could get the date out to him over a month in advance, and sadly, a handful of the upper years do have such sympathies—or their parents do. What if we just didn't announce the Hogsmeade weekends until the day of?"

Dumbledore pondered this for a second. "That seems a workable solution," he mused. "Voldemort would lack the necessary time to marshal his forces, and I could ward the village somewhat to at least ensure faster response in the event of a random attack. Undoubtedly some of the students would complain of the resulting inability to plan for the weekends, but that seems a small price to pay for security. All in favor?"

Most of the staff raised their hands.

"Motion carried: Hogsmeade visit days will not be announced until breakfast on the day of the visit." Dumbledore sighed. "In a similar vein to that issue, I have heard through spies in Voldemort's ranks that he plans to in some way attack the school near the end of this academic year. Details are vague, but I don't believe Lord Voldemort would be so foolish as to attack with brute force—Hogwarts's wards are a millennium old. So we are facing the possibility of an attack from the inside, a student trying to kill or capture a small number of his fellows . . ."

Harry frowned. "Pardon me, Professor, but couldn't you just set up a ward against the Mark?"

"What Mark?" asked Professor Slughorn.

"The Dark Mark. Voldemort's sign."

"I don't see how that would help us, truly," Dumbledore said. "Lord Voldemort's followers generally only cast the Mark _after_ a successful attack."

_They don't know? I can't believe it. All this time—_

_Easy to fix, at least._

"Professor, I'm referring to the Dark Mark with which Voldemort brands all his followers. Same symbol, on the left forearm. He uses it to call them to him, so it's magical and its signature should be blockable by a ward. It wouldn't prevent all attacks—there's still Imperius and not-officially-Death-Eater sympathizers—but I think it would help."

"I will take that under consideration," said Dumbledore. "In addition, I believe it would be prudent to institute Secrecy Sensor checks as students enter and leave the grounds. Any objections?"

"Yes," said Professor Vector coldly. "Harry, how on Earth do you know about the Dark Mark when the best of our side doesn't? How _could_ you know about it, except by inside knowledge?"

Harry scowled. "Professor Vector, I do not appreciate your implication. I am not a Death Eater, I am not friends with any Death Eaters, and I hate Voldemort with every particle of my being. I know about the Dark Mark because a Death Eater bragged about it just before he tried to kill me. I escaped. I assumed it was something the Ministry had picked up by now."

"The Ministry couldn't pick up a Quaffle if they put their best employees to the job," Professor McGonagall said. By the murmurs of agreement, she wasn't the only one to hold that opinion.

"Does anyone else object?" Dumbledore asked, and the murmurs instantly died down. After a few seconds of silence, he steepled his fingers. "Excellent. Motion carried: I will investigate wards against the Dark Mark. Mr. Filch, I am placing you in charge of ensuring that Secrecy Sensor checks are instigated as necessary. Please do not detain student life overmuch with such checks."

Filch grunted in agreement.

From there, the staff meeting was devoted to more mundane issues—a lack of parchment in the Transfiguration department, recent raucous behavior of Peeves, and "those infernal Marauders" ranked among the problems discussed. ("Those infernal Marauders," Harry noticed, were actually quite amusing to most of the professors.)

Finally, around noon, Dumbledore called the meeting to a close. Plates of food appeared, courtesy of the Hogwarts house elves, and polite conversation soon blossomed.

Professor McGonagall turned to face Harry. "So, Professor Potter, apart from your part in the Weasleys' wedding, and then some—I must say, you took me quite by pleasant surprise, and I wish you all the best—how have you been keeping busy this summer?" She sniffed the air and frowned. "My status as an Animagus gives me some of the abilities of my form, and I must say your base scent has changed lately. Might you know why?"

Harry knew McGonagall knew quite well why his scent had changed; she just wanted to hear the words from his mouth. "I'm an Animagus, form of a black wolf with green eyes," he said. "And unregistered, but I'll register as soon as Voldemort is dealt with. In the mean time, I think it'd be best to have a thing or two up my sleeve." McGonagall looked confused. "Sorry, Muggle expression. A few skills kept hidden. And feel free to call me Harry."

"Minerva, then. And I understand your point of view. Allow me to offer my congratulations; Animagus is difficult magic, and that you managed it in barely a year, while still in school, is almost unheard of."

Harry hid his smile. _Guess she doesn't know about the Marauders, then . . ._ "Hermione got it too, earlier than I did. Her form is a lot like yours, but differently patterned. It's how we managed to escape the Death Eaters—got out of her cell in cat form, one of the deez was stupid enough to pick her up, she transformed back, got his wand, and got all of us out."

"Remarkable indeed. Has anyone else in the Pack managed the transformation?" Harry looked surprised that she knew of the name. "Oh, you'd be amazed about the interesting tidbits you learn as a professor, Harry. I think the name is fitting; you—twelve, was it?—do seem to support each other and do everything together. Certainly better than the 'Marauders', at any rate." Her lips were pressed thinly, but Harry could smell a healthy dose of amusement.

_Oh, I'll _have _to tell them about this one._ "Thank you. And in answer to your question, no, we're the first ones."

"Well, good luck teaching, Harry. If you need anything, just ask."

"Same to you . . . Minerva."

Minerva smiled. "See, it's not so hard, is it?"

Later, as Professor Slughorn rose to leave the room, Harry followed suit and cornered him just down the hallway.

"Why, hello, Professor Potter!" Slughorn said jovially. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, just wanted to give you some information." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the cracked locket and ring—two destroyed Horcruxes. "Recognize these?"

Slughorn's face lost all pallor. "No— those aren't— can't be—"

"Five, Professor," Harry said softly. "Three destroyed, these two plus one I didn't get a chance to grab. That last one is the only one he knows I got so far, and he thinks it was a lucky strike. The two remaining, I'll be going after when the time is right."

"But why— how—" Slughorn spluttered.

"We all make mistakes," said Harry. "Merlin knows I've made them aplenty. I thought you'd like to know yours would finally be getting resolved."

"Thank you," Slughorn almost squeaked, and positively ran to his office.

Harry shrugged. _Better that he knows._

* * *

Harry walked into his quarters and collapsed on the bed.

"Exhausting?" Ginny asked softly.

"Tell me about it," he muttered. "Although, honestly, I think it went well. I showed Slughorn the ring and the locket. I think he's afraid of me now." Harry chuckled weakly. "Oh, and Professor McGonagall actually finds the Marauders amusing."

"Now that, we have _got_ to tell them," Ginny said, laughing. "Actually, I bet they already know. I mean, all of their forms have enhanced senses, except maybe Peter's. Maybe that's why they prank so much?"

"Nah, they just love causing mayhem. And I'll bring it up at den-night on the 31st. Wait. Den. How am I going to get there from here?"

"How about asking Maura?"

_Oh. Duh._ Harry got up and left the room. "Hi, Maura," he said, addressing its guardian portrait. "Is there any way to connect a new room to the Heart of Hogwarts temporarily?"

Maura pondered this for a second. "Well, the side rooms have fixed connections, which I think you've all discovered by now—"

"Not the Quidditch pitch one."

"Ah, that one leads outside somewhere. You have to be in the broom closet when you say the password to activate it. As I was saying, the side rooms are fixed, but the main room has a connection too, and _it_ can be changed by a blood Heir."

"Which I am," Harry finished. "Great. How do I do it?"

Maura explained.

Harry walked back in quietly and faced the fireplace. "Harry of Godric says, create access here for Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley." A flash of red light signaled that it had worked.

"Hey, Gin! C'mere!"

Ginny walked in from the bedroom. "What is it?"

"Look." He faced the fireplace pointedly. "Thank you, Harry of Godric." A section of wall slid away.

"Oh, does that lead to the Den? Great! But why 'Harry of Godric'?"

Harry laughed. "The password is however you identify yourself. If I just used Harry, we would be triggering it by accident all the time."

Ginny grinned wickedly. "Thank you, Harry of Godric, this is perfect." The opening closed over.

Harry groaned. "Just as long as you don't start calling me that all the time."

"If you do anything stupid, I reserve the right."

_Just what have I gotten myself into here?_ he thought with a suppressed sigh.

_Oh, who cares? Better this than Voldemort._

* * *

Harry looked around at the eleven faces before him. They were in one of the larger unused bedrooms in Potter Manor, and a bit of skilled Transfiguration work by James had sufficed to turn a mattress into full-floor padding like that in the Den. "Be welcome, all, to this den-night," he said. "We are Pack now, Pack together."

"Pack forever," the others chorused loudly. Very loudly.

Harry winced. "Let's hope Grandpa doesn't hear that," he muttered.

James laughed. "Oh, don't worry, my dad acts like he has a miniature Silencing Charm around him when he sleeps. We're not going to get barged in on."

"I'll take your word for it. Now, before I forget, I learned quite a bit of interesting stuff at the staff meeting two weekends ago. Like exactly what McGonagall thinks of your pranks."

"Let me guess," said Sirius pompously. "She loves them?" Moony snorted.

"Well, not _exactly_; they did refer to 'those infernal Marauders' quite a bit, but . . . yeah, she loves them. Finds them amusing, at least."

"Guess that's why we never got more than detention for it," Peter mused. "It's like Sirius always says, laughter is the best medicine."

"And in return for your 'birthday present'" Harry said, laughing, "I'll give you an early 'birthday present' yourselves. If I catch you pranking, I'll pretend I didn't see anything, and I won't use your inventions against you. Other teachers, though, remain fair game."

"Deal!" yelled Sirius. Lily and Hermione looked momentarily reproachful, but they too soon wore indulgent smiles.

"And I have a couple surprises for you," Danger said a bit later. "First one." She closed her eyes. A few seconds later, there was a small _pop_, and by the dim light Harry could see a grey wolf almost identical to Remus, but without the short snout and tufted tail that identified him as a werewolf.

The two wolves nuzzled against each other. Hermione gasped. "Danger? You made Animagus? Why didn't you _tell_ us?"

Danger transformed back. "Well, it was a couple days after the wedding, and you and Ron would've been too busy making googly eyes at each other to answer any owls . . . not to mention it was fun keeping it as a surprise. I think Lily's the only one who knew—well, her and Remus, because she had to give me the potion and Remus just knows _everything_."

"No, James too," Lily said sheepishly. "I ran into him while I was looking for the potion."

"Oh, is _that_ why it took so long?" Danger quipped. Most of the males of the Pack laughed.

"Well, Danger, that's great," Hermione enthused. "I can't believe it—not even sixth-years, and you've managed such difficult magic! Professor McGonagall would be so proud."

"If she ever finds out," Danger amended. "Which I'm perfectly happy to avoid."

"Well, you'll have to register _eventually_. And shouldn't you have gotten a prophecy at the end of July?"

"Which brings us to our second surprise," Danger said without missing a beat. "Said prophecy."

Hermione instantly pulled out parchment and Self-Inking Quill from a pocket. Ron stifled a snicker at her overpreparedness.

Danger recited the prophecy.

Hermione copied it down dutifully, then stood and paced the room as she thought, looking at the parchment from time to time. "Let's see . . . first bit's really vague, no help there. 'Be troubled not by powers wrought'? Is there anyone afraid of some kind of magic in here?"

Aletha blinked, but remained silent. _Can't mean me, there's no way that kind of result can come from a power that's good . . ._

"Well, I'm sure it'll make perfect sense in hindsight, just like everything else. Other important phrases, let's see . . . 'Come winter-time, the plot is set: When cheer is greatest, lowest yet will be'. Well, I'd say we need to be especially careful around Christmas. 'The alphas' will be tested—I wonder who those are?"

"Well, look around you," Harry said with a grim smile. "Three wolf animal forms. Wolf packs have alpha pairs to lead them. More trouble for yours truly."

"It _might_ mean something else, Harry," Hermione reassured. "These are really metaphorical and such, that's half the point . . . Hmm. This looks like trouble, though. 'Light's own darkness' threatens. How could something or someone be both Light and Dark?"

"Easy," Lily said. "Dark has two meanings. There's Dark-like-Voldemort, the sort of power-hungriness, and then there's Dark-like-Snape, where it's just a type of magic that's used. Similar for Light."

"Fail to see how they're different," Sirius grumbled. Aletha hit him lightly upside the head. "Ouch, that hurt!"

"Like Mr. Crouch, authorizing Unforgivables on the Death Eaters," Harry mused, ignoring Sirius's interruption. "Maybe we're supposed to prevent that? Who knows."

Hermione continued her analysis. "The rest of this isn't _quite_ so convoluted. Snape will prove himself an ally, if not a friend. Battle of some sort in summer, not the final one, don't refuse offered help . . . something 'lost', maybe a Horcrux?" She frowned and fell silent for several seconds. "But this last sextet is driving me crazy! Harry, do you think you might have any ideas?" She offered the parchment, and Harry took it.

His face fell as he read. "I think I know what the 'day of losses twin' is," he said morosely. "October 31. Halloween. I have exactly—" he thought for a few seconds— "425 days to figure out how to beat him. This is just impossible." Harry crumpled the parchment up, fast growing in anger. "Stupid prophecies, dictating my life!" he yelled, and threw the parchment across the room. Hermione discreetly walked over to retrieve it and removed the wrinkles with a charm.

Ginny laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, you're being unreasonable," she said, trying to be as placating as possible. "This prophecy is _help_ for us. It only matters as much as we let it. How do you even know it's next Halloween, anyway?"

"I just do," Harry said resolutely, not meeting her gaze. "I can tell."

"But it doesn't say," Ginny noted. "This prophecy only covers _one year_. It's giving us hints about what'll happen after that, but there's no timeframe. For all we know, it could be Halloween 1998."

"And d'you think I _want_ the war to go on that long?" Harry shot back angrily. "D'you think I _want_ any kids I have to grow up the same as I did? D'you think I want them to live my _so-entirely-screwed-up life_ all over again, just with different names for the Potters?" He deflated visibly. "I'm sorry, Gin," he muttered, looking at her remorsefully. "I know I'm— it's just—"

"Let's look at this logically," Ginny suggested. Her hand on Harry's shoulder began tracing small circles. "We think Voldemort will be beaten on a Halloween. It might not even be referring to Halloween. It could be next Halloween, like you're so afraid of. It could be five years from now. It could be three months from now, if Voldemort trips into his resident pit of flaming spikes getting out of the bathtub." That earned an honest laugh. "See? And whenever it is, you'll have us with you every step of the way. 'From none the chance to fight withhold'—well, I'm planning on fighting."

"And I," said Hermione.

"And I," Ron added quickly.

"And we," all four Marauders and Danger said at once. Lily, Aletha, and Rachel followed soon after.

Harry smiled weakly. "Thanks. I know better than to try to push you away by now." He turned to look at the Marauders. "Now, how in Merlin's name are you so _coordinated_? Not just now; now that I think about it, there's all sorts of times where it seemed you just knew what the others were thinking, like when you showed us Animagus . . ."

"Trade secret," said Sirius, at the same time as Danger said "Hand signals." James glared at her, placed his thumb between first and second fingers, and drew an _X_ with it nail-down on the ground.

"Traitor," Danger translated lightly. "The wiggled little finger means he's not entirely serious. The more wiggle, the more joking."

"And of course, now you _have_ to teach us," Lily pointed out. "No fair keeping secrets this big from your girlfriends and kids!"

James rolled his eyes and began to explain. "Well, first you have yes and no . . ."

* * *

Charles Potter, walking to bed after a late night of paperwork, stopped as he heard scuffling to his right.

He turned, curious. The door was open. He silently took a few steps closer to look; walking undetected was one of the most important skills of an Auror, and with the problems they'd been having with rogue werewolves lately their work clothes had all been enchanted with scent-dispelling charms. _Even if it's Remus, he won't notice me._

Charles almost stepped back in shock. Inside the room were several people he recognized (his son and his girlfriend, plus the time-travelers minus his grandson, all of which he had _clearly_ seen entering their separate rooms), a few he didn't (a blonde-haired girl with a slightly disconcerting expression and a dark-skinned girl with black hair, both about his son's age)—and a multitude of animals.

He tried to identify them. This was difficult, as they were all playing and roughhousing with each other and the humans, but he eventually managed to pick out their species: a big black dog, two grey wolves and one black one, and he thought he saw a rat scuttling around once . . .

The uncannily Grim-like dog turned to charge at his son, who was standing innocently in a corner.

Charles cursed mentally. _I don't know what in Merlin's name they're doing, but I can't let them get hurt._ The dog would be hitting James any second— he raised his wand to cast an Impediment Jinx—

Suddenly, James disappeared and a large stag took his place, antlers extended forward menacingly. The floor creaked under the change in weight. The dog snorted, diverted its course, and took to trying to knock the stag over from the side.

_Merlin's beard, they're all Animagi!_

Charles decided instantly not to turn them in. _It's not as if it would do any good, and those laws are ridiculously unenforced—I think we have five unregistereds in the Auror division alone. Plus, it's a useful skill if they get into tight corners. Amazing achievement, though. And if they've already managed it, the possibilities for hurting themselves are pretty much nil . . ._

Looking closer, he tried to identify which animal was which person. _The stag's James, I know that. What were their nicknames? Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs? Moony's obviously Remus, and—yes, tonight's a full moon, I can see him in there—Padfoot sounds like a dog, so Sirius is the Grim thing. Wormtail sounds much more like a rat than a wolf—interesting form, that—so Danger and Harry are the normal wolves._

_And I bet Danger's the grey one. Interesting form for her, she looks almost exactly like Remus. I bet they could pass for a pair of mates in the Forbidden Forest._

Chuckling silently, Charles resumed his walk to bed.

_Those twelve will do great things, I'm sure. And if they use my house to practice—well, good for them._

* * *

(A/N: Vows are from _Facing Danger_ verbatim.) 


	6. Professor Potter

**Chapter 6: Professor Potter**.

The Great Hall was full, the new students all Sorted to their respective House tables, everyone except perhaps the eat-anything Marauders full to bursting with the products of a sumptuous feast. Professor Dumbledore stood up from his thronelike chair in the middle of the High Table, and the murmurs of conversation immediately ceased.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," he said. The Great Hall was quite large, and Dumbledore didn't raise his voice or use any sort of charm, but as always his words still carried to the far corners of the Hall. "Now, I am sure you all are quite tired, considering the weather, so I shall endeavor to keep this short. We have two new appointments to our staff. First, Professor Sibyll Trelawney will be teaching Divination." Trelawney stood from her seat near the end of the High Table and was greeted by polite clapping. Harry tried to look at her as the students might, but he still failed to see anything other than a mystic old hag. _She does sort of give that impression . . ._

"And secondly, it is my great pleasure to introduce Professor Harry Potter, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

Harry stood up, smiling slightly, and the Hall burst into applause. Some of the Slytherins were scowling, but most everyone else was raucously enthusiastic. _They're probably expecting me to be the 'cool teacher'. I won't be, but I don't plan to turn into another McGonagall either._

He sat back down as the applause died out and Dumbledore continued his announcements. "Also, I must inform the new students, and a few of the old ones—" he shot a special glance at the Marauders, who put on practiced innocent looks— "that the Forbidden Forest is so named for a reason, and it is, indeed, forbidden.

"Quidditch tryouts will begin two weeks from Saturday; information will be posted on the House bulletin boards.

"And finally, a few words on the world outside these stone walls." The hush in the Hall deepened. Dumbledore's ever-present twinkle dimmed slightly. "As most of you should know, the Wizarding community is currently at war with a Dark wizard named Voldemort, or as so many of you seem to be fond of referring to him, 'You-Know-Who'." The Headmaster's tone on this last word spoke volumes about his opinion of it.

"This school is among the safest places you can be right now," he continued. "Rest assured that every precaution is being taken to ensure your safety. I urge you to cooperate with security checks when you enter and leave the castle, and to remember that absolutely no one may be out on the grounds after dark for any reason whatsoever. Furthermore, in light of the events of late April past, Hogsmeade weekends will not be announced until breakfast of the applicable Saturday." A few of the older students groaned. "I remind you that this is for your protection, and we must continue to strike a balance between safety and normalcy. The staff feel that this solution is an acceptable compromise. If you note any suspicious activity, you should come to one of the professors or to your Head Boy or Girl, that is, Lily Evans or James Potter . . ."

The speech wound down with some light-hearted remarks (Harry noted idly that Dumbledore had chosen a word he didn't even know, 'picayune', to end things off) and a great scraping noise was heard as the students stood up.

With a slight glance back toward James, Lily, and Remus, who were ensconced in Head and Prefect duties, the subset of the Pack unsaddled with responsibilities headed toward Gryffindor Tower. As soon as they were out the door of the Hall, Sirius said excitedly, "I got a flat!"

Peter turned to look at him. "Where? And _how_, Padfoot? Last I remembered, your parents had thrown you out, and you don't exactly seem to have a job . . ."

Sirius's expression sobered slightly. "Uncle Alphard died, remember? He specifically asked me to use some of the money he left me to buy a place and be—his words—'free of your imbecile parents once and for all'. Guess he listened all those times I complained."

"So where is it?" Aletha asked.

"Number 137(b), Diagon Alley. It's in that sort of crowded but nice and quaint residential section, past where the shops dwindle off; got a good price on it, too. No more leeching off James's parents!"

"Except you know they'll want you to anyway," she quipped. "But yeah, Sirius, that's great!"

None of them noticed Severus Snape walking a few paces behind, out of sight only because they didn't look around, and certainly not out of hearing range.

And his intentions for the piece of information he had just gleaned were not at all honorable.

_I have to keep favor on both sides for my position to remain valuable,_ Snape rationalized. _I can hardly approach Dumbledore for permission to disseminate every piece of idle student gossip, and this is the sort of tidbit the Dark Lord will value far out of proportion to its true importance—or rather, lack thereof; anyone with access to the appropriate records could find it . . ._

_And Black really should know better than to discuss such matters in public._ He snorted. _Wait, who am I kidding? Black would attack a hippogriff unarmed if he thought it would be fun to do. Probably, nothing will come of it anyway._

_He should be so lucky._

* * *

Harry stood nervously behind his desk, a smile plastered on his face, as the fourth-years filed in excitedly. _I've prepared like all hell, but still . . . what if they hate me?_ he fretted.

**They won't,** Ginny reassured him. **You're a brilliant teacher. Just treat it like the D.A. and you'll be fine.**

Harry smiled a bit more sincerely. **How do you always know exacly when to cheer me up?**

**You think really loud when you're anxious,** Ginny sent back. **Makes it really easy to fix most of the time.**

The twenty Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had all sat down, and a few of the more studious were beginning to pull out their books. Harry had picked _The Dark Arts Outsmarted,_ by Quentin Trimble, as it was the book Remus had used during his third year, but he didn't want to get off all Umbridge-seeming . . .

"You can put your books away," he said pleasantly. "Today's lesson is a practical one."

Just as Harry expected, those students who had taken out their books instantly put them away, their expressions brightening considerably. "Great. First of all, I'm Professor Harry Potter, and I'll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts this year." He saw a few hands go up. "And yes, I was a student here last year. Professor Dumbledore gave me this post because of my, shall we say, extensive extracurricular experience in the field." He cracked a grin, trying not to laugh. _That's one way to put five encounters with Voldemort to date!_ The hands went down.

"All right, I promise we'll get to the fun stuff soon, but we need to go through some of the absolute basics first, considering what I know of your last few Defense teachers. Who can tell me just what the 'Dark Arts' are?"

One of the Gryffindors in the first row instantly raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. . . ."

"Gosse, sir, Rodger Gosse. The Dark Arts are evil magic!" he said eagerly.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean by 'evil', Mr. Gosse? What makes a particular spell evil?"

Rodger thought for a second. "If it does evil things, sir," he decided.

In response, Harry pointed his wand at a spare quill on his desk. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" He Levitated it quickly across the room and out the open window. "We're on the fourth floor. If that feather had been a person, would what I just did be evil?"

"Yeah, I think so," Rodger said.

"So then, by your logic, _Wingardium Leviosa_ is a Dark spell."

Rodger was stymied; apparently he hadn't thought of it that way. "Er, then is it that a Dark spell can _only_ be used for evil things?"

"No," Harry said. "There isn't any spell I can think of that has _purely_ evil purposes . . . well, one, maybe. But if someone shot a Killing Curse at Voldemort, and he died from it, would that be evil?"

A Gryffindor girl raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Hartley?" Dorris Hartley was the younger sister of a girl in the D.A., and from what he had heard about her, she was even more Defense-eager than Anne.

"Well, obviously that wouldn't be evil, Professor. But I have a question about what you said. 'If he died from it'—does that mean V–Voldemort can't be killed with the Killing Curse?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, that is correct. And five points to Gryffindor for using his name," he added as an afterthought. _Bit of a positive incentive to get around the irrational fear._ "Voldemort has undergone enough Dark rituals that normal magical methods of killing do not work on him—I believe he may be immune to all three Unforgivables, though I am not sure. But don't lose heart; he _can_ still be killed." Harry turned to look at everyone in the class. "Now, what I'm about to say is important. You don't need to take notes on it—we'll be going into more detail on this later in the year—but I want you to remember it."

"Dark is _not_ the same as evil." _Lily would be proud of me,_ he thought with a slight mental smile, but he kept his outward expression firm. "Dark magic is a form of magic that is closer to the raw elements of the world; as such, it tends to be more potent, more dangerous, and thus more appreciated by those who _are_ evil. However, it is not evil in itself. Most curses and some hexes are technically Dark, and I'm sure you've used them before."

"Why do they call Aurors Dark wizard catchers, then?" Rodger asked.

"Because it doesn't require much explanation," Harry said. "It would be better to say that their job is to prosecute lawbreakers and out-of-control Dark wizards, but that's a bit of a mouthful. 'Dark wizard catcher' is nice and easy to say, even if it isn't completely accurate." He smiled slightly. "Enough of this theoretical stuff. We know what the Dark Arts are; now, how would you defend against them? Anyone? There are quite a lot of ways . . ."

Dorris Hartley's hand shot up. "A shield charm, Professor?"

Harry walked over to the board and wrote down _1. Shield charm — Protego._ "Excellent, Miss Hartley. That is correct, and above the level you're expected to know at this point." He took out his wand. "Now, please shoot a curse of some sort at me so I can demonstrate."

Dorris complied, sending off quite a good Jelly-Legs Jinx. "_Protego!_" Harry incanted, with the requisite slashing motion. The jinx rebounded off an invisible shield and impacted harmlessly against the wall. "That's called the Shield Charm, and as you can see, it actually causes whatever you hit it with to rebound. To a point, of course; Unforgivables or strong Dark curses will cut right through it. For now, though, you're going to learn a simpler one. Miss Hartley, again, if you please?"

Another Jelly-Legs Jinx came Harry's way. "_Oppilorbis!_" A bright yellow disc shot out from Harry's wand and hit the jinx, absorbing it with a hissing sound. "That's the Oppilorbis Block. The wand motion is a circle followed by a jab," he said, demonstrating. "It's about as strong as _Protego_, but it doesn't make the spell bounce back. Thank you, Miss Hartley, take another five points for Gryffindor. Now break into partners and practice the Block, please; I'll be coming around to offer advice as necessary."

From there, Harry could almost convince himself he was just in another D.A. meeting. He walked inconspicuously around the room, correcting a grip here, a pronunciation there, giving House points for particularly excellent work. In about twenty minutes, everyone had mastered the block to his satisfaction.

"Great," Harry said, walking back to his desk at the front of the room. "Blocking spells are a very effective technique, but there are others. Anyone care to take a guess?"

"Fire something back?" Rodger suggested.

Harry smiled at his impulsiveness. "That can work, sometimes; if you hit the jet of light head-on, with a spell about the same level of power, they'll both be deflected. And there's an offensive component to dealing with attackers—but we'll be getting to that later. But no, I was thinking of something else."

No one had any ideas.

Harry laughed. "Sorry, maybe it was too obvious: dodge! Even the Killing Curse can't hurt you if it doesn't hit you. And here's another thing to remember. Mr. Gosse, would you care to do the honors?"

Rodger grinned and launched a Full Body-Bind at Harry. Harry waved his wand and conjured a slab of granite, then Vanished it after it had absorbed the spell.

"Physical blocks work too, and they're quite effective. That one—marble or granite—even protects against Avada Kedavra pretty well. It's just a bog-standard Conjuration, which you'll be getting to this year in Transfiguration class—honestly, almost every class you're taking here has some application to Defense. Except maybe Astronomy," he added with a grin.

Harry looked at his watch; they had about ten minutes left in the period. "One last thing to demonstrate. Someone attack me. How about a Ravenclaw this time?"

One of the boys on the far right of the room raised his hand. Harry nodded, and was soon on the receiving end of a Furnunculus Hex. He transformed into Wolf, dodged the hex, and was standing next to the Ravenclaw's desk, growling, within a second.

"All right, I give, I give!" the boy said, laughing. Harry transformed back. "What's that supposed to tell us?" the Ravenclaw asked curiously. "You're an Animagus?"

"I am, Mr. Sawyer, but that isn't the point," Harry said. "This is: Use _anything_ at your disposal. If your enemy doesn't know about it, you can use it to get an advantage over him—do so! Animagus, Metamorphmagus, Legilimency, if you have an Invisibility Cloak, whatever. And incidentally, I'm trusting you all not to spread around that I'm an Animagus. I don't want the Death Eaters knowing before they have to."

The members of the class nodded, a few giving verbal reassurances.

"Thank you." _I could tell any insincere ones by smell, I think, so I'm safe there._ "We have about five minutes left; does anyone have any questions?"

"Yeah," Rodger said as he rose his hand. "How do you know all this stuff? I mean, you're only what, eighteen, three or four years older than us, and you're an Animagus, you know all sorts of Defense stuff, you say V– Vol– You-Know-Who's name—how'd you learn it all?"

"Remember what I said about 'extensive extracurricular experience'?"

"Yeah, but . . ."

"I've faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters far too often for my liking. I have a healthy respect for this stuff because thanks to it, I'm still alive. By virtue of some circumstances I really can't tell you about, I'm going to have a huge part in this war whether I want to or not; I choose to make the most of that, and do my darnedest to bring Lord Voldemort down. Does that answer your question?"

The class was silent, most giving him respectful or awe-filled looks.

"Right. Well, I guess that's it. A final word: This class is going to teach you a lot, but it's not going to let you walk through a Death Eater attack with impunity. Voldemort's servants aren't getting their successes because they're stupid, folks. These are skilled wizards, however evil-inclined their skills may be, and you must always be on your guard. I know an Auror who's fond of shouting 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' all the time . . . he's right.

"Now, if any of you are interested in learning more beyond what this class has to offer, I encourage you to join the D.A. It's a club, started by me last year and open to fourth year in up, where you can learn some of the more high-level or obscure aspects of Defense. Among a bunch of other stuff, we're going to be doing a duelling contest this year. First meeting is this Saturday at seven o'clock, seventh floor corridor opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to do ballet." A few of the students snickered at this last, but Harry could see eager looks on the faces of Rodger and Dorris, among others.

"And that really is all for today. Good work, everyone. Dismissed."

The students stood, gathered their things, and filed out the door, leaving Harry grinning at his success.

**So? What'd you think?** he asked Ginny.

**How would I know?** she replied innocently.

Harry rolled his eyes, though he knew Ginny wouldn't notice. **You have a free period now. You have no homework, Lily's busy with Head Girl duties, and no doubt the rest of the Marauders are busy plotting their next prank. Somehow, I suspect you've been watching.**

**You guessed right, Professor Potter. You did brilliantly.**

**You think so?**

**Yes, and I know you do too, you modest prat!** Harry laughed. **Really, it was a great lesson. I think _I_ might've even learned something.**

**Well, I hope you learn something from me today. I've got the seventh-years in . . . what, twenty minutes or so?**

**Yep. And I can't wait to see what you do.**

Harry chuckled. **You already know, Gin. You were the one who gave me the idea, remember?**

**Oh yeah.**

Contented mental silence fell for a bit.

Ginny spoke up again through their link. **Harry? The Gryffindor fourth-years just got back into the common room, and they really like you. 'Professor Potter is so cool!' one of them just said. And—oh, look, another one just asked James if you're related.**

**What'd he give, the standard Marauder answer?** Harry asked, laughing. **Absolute truth, delivered in such a way that no one would believe it?**

**Right on.**

Soon enough, the seventh-year N.E.W.T. Defense students were filing into the classroom. Ginny shot Harry a wide smile as she took a seat in the front row, the Marauders, Lily, and Rachel nearby. Harry turned his back to the class to erase the chalkboard as everyone was getting settled.

He didn't notice Sirius point his wand at Harry's chair and whisper an incantation.

"Welcome to your final year of N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said, addressing the class. "I'm Professor Harry Potter, and yes, I was a year ahead of you all last year." He sat down.

His chair emitted a wonderfully accurate—and _long_—sound of flatulence. The class erupted in laughter.

Harry sighed and gave a sheepish grin. "Considering I'm the Defense teacher and I really shouldn't've turned my back on known pranksters, I'll let that one slide. However, you _are_ going to be learning some useful material this year, and I can't teach if I'm looking for pranks on every inch of my classroom." He made the Marauder sign for _traitor_.

Sirius grinned cheekily and signed back, _Didn't prank you. Pranked chair._

Harry rolled his eyes and got on with the lesson.

* * *

"You say they made your chair pass gas? Oh, that's priceless!"

Harry shot a sharp look at his former Transfiguration professor. "If I remember correctly, Minerva, the Marauders also afflicted _your_ first lesson. Specifically, by turning your hair red and gold striped."

"And, of course, she didn't notice for half the class," Flitwick piped up. "At least, that's what my Charms students told me."

"Now, see here, Filius," McGonagall said in her best stern voice. "Do you wish for me to bring up some of _your_ more memorable episodes of embarrassment at their hands?"

"Oh, go right ahead," the small wizard chirped. "I found their Engorgement Charm on my desk particularly amusing, considering I couldn't see over it. Ingenious use of Charms work!"

"Or, perhaps, when they snuck in before class and charmed that stack of books you stand on to catapult you across the room halfway through class?"

_This is _anything _but what I expected at the first-week staff meeting,_ Harry thought, stifling a burst of laughter.

_I'm liking this job more and more every day . . ._

* * *

At breakfast a few days later, Aletha was rather surprised to see her owl Maya winging toward her, a letter attached to her leg. _She hasn't been around since before Hogwarts started, and I know I haven't sent any letters since Ron and Hermione's wedding . . . Maya always had a good sense for when someone wanted to write me, but she only cared when it was someone close to me—_

She started. The only person close to her emotionally, far away physically, that would be writing her now was—was her father.

The father she hadn't heard from since her mother's funeral. The father who had gone away to "clear his head," to "get some perspective."

The father who had left her on her own at one of the worst times of her life.

_And if I didn't have the Pack to support me, I would've gone crazy trying to pretend everything was fine._

_Because, honestly, that's exactly what I would've tried to pretend. And unless you know me really, _really _well, you'd think everything really _is _fine. I'm hard to read like that._

A wave of apprehension passed over her. _Do I really want to read this letter?_

Ultimately, though, she would never know what her father had finally decided if she didn't find out. Maya landed. Aletha slit the envelope open—a Muggle envelope, even more shockingly white than most Muggle paper seemed after a year of exposure to parchment—and began to read the letter contained inside. Sure enough, it was written in William Freeman's handwriting, and it seemed a bit shaky . . .

_Dear Aletha,_

_I am sorry._

_In the wake of your mother's death, I was forced to reconsider many aspects of my life. Losing her hurt more than you can know; I just couldn't bear to lose you too._

_And we both know _why _Teresa Freeman died. I heard her last words to you. It was magic, pure and simple. The terrible result we saw is exaclty what this world you're in—the one you have spoken so forcefully to retain—does to people._

_I have tried to convince you to leave it. I have tried to convince myself to allow you to stay in it. Both have failed._

_Quite honestly, I would like nothing better at this point than to pull you out of Hogwarts for as long as I can. But I have also seen the experience you have, the true friends you speak of, the way your face lights up so tellingly when you talk about your year . . . Ultimately, I cannot bring myself to secure your well-being at such a devastating expense to you. I do care about your happiness, Aletha._

_But neither could I bear to see the same thing happen to you as has happened to your mother. In her, it was latent, only brought out by a unique sort of magic she invoked accidentally and only rarely, and yet she still died by age forty-five. In you, who has spent the last five years studying the 'art', I can only imagine its toll will be felt that much sooner._

_Aletha, losing your mother has shaken me terribly. I will not endure another such loss._

_If you ever come to your senses about this, please contact me. I believe your owl will know where to find me._

_Your father,_

_William Freeman_

Ruthlessly clamping down on her rampaging emotions, Aletha forced herself to reread the letter. Surely he couldn't be meaning what she thought he meant. Surely her worry was warping the situation out of control . . .

She read it again. And again. It wasn't. Her initial understanding was just fine.

_Except it's just about as far from fine as you can get._

_Dad's abandoning me. Forcing me to choose between my magic and my family._

_As if an ultimatum will change my views._ She managed to keep inside the barriers of her mind a particular phrase that would surely elicit a detention from McGonagall if verbalized. _Dad, you bastard, you're abandoning me when I need you most. Well—_ that phrase again. _I've got wonderful friends in the Pack, family practically, who actually _accept who I am_, amazing as that must seem to you. If you're going to act like this, I don't bloody need you!_

Danger must have noticed the changing expressions on Aletha's face, or perhaps it was her highly emotional scent at the moment. "Letha, what's wrong?"

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Aletha stood, stony-faced, and walked briskly out the hall, the letter still clutched in her right hand. She crumpled it into a ball, tighter and tighter, as she strode out the great doors and up, up, up the seemingly endless flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower. A part of her was crying out that she shouldn't be so hasty to judge, that her father was deep in grief and wasn't considering the situation fairly, that he _couldn't_ consider it fairly because he didn't know all the facts . . .

That part of her quickly lost its foothold in the face of a new wave of fury. _Who the hell cares? I'm his DAUGHTER! If he's rejecting me now, out of hand, when he KNOWS he doesn't have all the facts, how in Merlin's name is he going to change down the road?_

_I will not give in. I will move on._

She reached the Fat Lady and barked the password. "Tiger Lily!" She almost—_almost_—smiled. It was the Head Boy's duty to choose passwords for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the Head Girl's for Hufflepuff and Slytherin, and Aletha was sure Lily had been ever-so-slightly irate at James's choice.

_Or she'd think it was sweet. Who knows? Who cares?_

Ignoring the Fat Lady's surprised "What's wrong, dear?", Aletha marched in and straight up to the fireplace. "Stealth mode! Thank you, Godric!" she shouted. She didn't care if anyone else noticed at the moment. She was _far_ too angry at her father for all that much rational thought, and she didn't want to display that anger in public.

Without really remembering how she got there, Aletha found herself in the shockingly red Gryffindor bedroom, lying prostrate on the bed and punching it and its pillows angrily. "I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I love him! Why can't he just _accept_ me, damnit!" she sobbed.

An indeterminate amount of time later, strong arms were suddenly pulling her from her position. _Thanks, whoever-you-are,_ she thought, not feeling much like speaking and slightly doubting she could be coherent even if she tried. _Covers were getting wet._

She managed to stand up, her vision blurred by tears, and noticed whoever-it-was standing directly in front of her. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, holding on for dear life.

It wasn't until some several minutes later, when Aletha had calmed somewhat and was regarding the situation with more of her ever-present rationality, that she noticed it was Sirius Black who had—again—provided her a completely unexpected and completely necessary comfort.

Despite herself, Aletha laughed slightly. "Did you have any idea whatsoever _why_ I was down here?"

"Well, honestly, no," Sirius said with a shrug. "But you looked really upset when you left the Hall, and your emotions were so strong I could follow your trail pretty easily even without transforming. I figured you could use a shoulder to cry on, or whatever it is you girls call it."

Aletha smiled slightly. "Well, you got the expression right. And, Sirius—thanks. You might be an idiot sometimes, but you're at least a sensitive idiot when it counts."

"Me? Sensitive? Well, I guess I'm picking up _something_ from being friends with more responsible kids. Just don't start asking me to take the step into 'responsibility' or anything. I'm not quite that versatile."

That earned a real smile. "Someday, Sirius. Someday."

"So why _did_ you come down here?" he asked after a minute of silence.

Aletha handed him the crumpled-up letter, which was still clutched in her right hand. Somehow, it didn't seem quite so earth-shattering anymore; yes, her father was being an idiot and then some, but life would go on. It wasn't as if she was really alone . . .

_Funny how fifteen minutes or so can do that to a problem._

Sirius's face grew steadily angrier as his eyes scanned the paper. "How dare he!" he growled once he had finished reading. "Forcing you to make a choice like that—"

Aletha cut him off. "I know, and I feel the same way. I was so mad at him for a while. But you know what? His loss. This is my world; I'm staying here."

"Good for you. I still can't believe . . . Anyway, just remember you've got us. All the Pack."

Both in rather better spirits, the two left the Den via the entrance in the kitchens. Or rather, Sirius chose that exit and Aletha decided to follow him.

_Men and their stomachs, I swear._

_But then again, righteous anger _is _rather appetite-stimulating . . ._

* * *

On Wednesday came the first N.E.W.T. Potions class for the seventh-years.

_Or at least those of us who are still in it,_ Lily mused. _Which, among people I know, is basically just me, Remus, and Ginny. Plus Aletha and Danger in sixth-year. James dropped out . . . considering his marks in sixth year, _with _the Slughorn filter of his dad being an important Auror, I can't exactly say I blame him._

_And come to think of it, I never used that Felix Felicis I won._

The class went well enough—they were asked to start a brew of Polyjuice Potion, which Lily probably could've done almost in her sleep. The class's aftermath, though, was a completely different story. Lily waited in her usual spot in the library for Snape to come so they could compare notes; they'd been doing it for three years and, whatever James's opinions, they wouldn't be stopping this year.

At least Lily wasn't planning to. She couldn't get much comparing done, though, unless Snape showed up—and he didn't. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed with no sign of the Slytherin spy.

_I wonder what's happened? He's a spy now, maybe he's too stressed to worry about this?_

Snape finally showed up, looking around furtively. He walked briskly over towards Lily and, without speaking, cast a Privacy Spell around the both of them.

"Er— Severus? What's wrong?"

Snape, who had been staring determinedly at a point to Lily's right, turned to face her. "Look, Lily, I can't be seen associating with you anymore."

Lily frowned. "Why?"

"You're a Muggle-born witch. I'm supposedly a good Death Eater. The library is a public place. Connect the dots, Evans."

She was rather taken aback by the venom in his voice, but she thought she understood its cause. "You want to, but you can't?"

"You always were an intelligent one," Snape grumbled. "That is correct. If my fellow Slytherins see me 'consorting with a Mudblood', to use their vulgar terminology, my credibility will be cast to shreds. My position as a spy will become useless, and Dumbledore will have to figure out some other way to let me resist the Dark Lord and stay alive. Or perhaps just throw me in Azkaban, since his source of information has dried up."

Privately, Lily knew the Headmaster would never do such a thing; from what Snape had said, he had promised to find a way for Snape to continue despite his bad choices, and Dumbledore was a man who never broke his word, even without considering the oath. She also knew, though, that Snape in a bad mood was like a brick wall to argue with; no matter what you threw at it, it wouldn't change.

_He's just venting stress with snarkiness. Nothing I can do about it._

"Do you want me to cease _all_ contact, or just speaking in public?" Lily asked matter-of-factly.

Snape frowned, thinking. "Only contact that can be traced back to you," he decided. "Letters and such are fine, as long as you don't sign them 'Lily Evans' or any derivative of that."

"How about L.C., from my middle name?"

"Works fine, I guess. Goodbye." He cancelled the Privacy Spell and strode off.

_I doubt I'll ever understand him._

* * *

Sirius grinned as he looked down at the rhesus monkey in his lap.

_Transfiguration is even better than usual this year,_ he thought happily. _We're doing animal-to-animal, and I just _get it_, no idea how . . ._

_Scratch that, I have a perfectly good idea how. Animagus._

He tapped the monkey three times with his wand, focusing intently on the characteristics of a frog, and it changed.

_Great, that makes five times in a row it's worked without issues. I think it's time for something bigger._ Sirius nonchalantly raised his arms as if stretching, bringing the fingers and thumb of each hand together five times—the signal for _meet me in the Room of Requirement_. Marauder sign language had developed organically, out of necessity; none of them had any idea whatsoever how to say "cat," for instance, but if they ever needed to say that, they would figure out a sign for it.

James, Remus, and Peter blinked twice at him.

Sirius stood and walked from the common room; as had been agreed long ago, they would stagger their exits so as not to reduce suspicion.

_When you come right down to it, I bet we could teach the Aurors a thing or two about subtlety in communication. Professor McGonagall is _way _harder to fool than Voldemort._

Then he laughed at the absurdity of standing before a group of grizzled veterans and teaching them how to say "What the hell is he talking about?" to each other.

_But then again, that's the kind of thing you want to say in class all the time. I think that sign got bandied about every single day of Johnson's classes last year._

The signs were chosen for inconspicuousness; the goal was to make them visible enough if you knew what to look for, but able to be dismissed as strange mannerisms if you didn't. _I bet by now that some of the teachers think our fingers twitch when we're thinking up pranks . . ._

He arrived at the Room of Requirement, paced back and forth three times asking for the 'Marauders' planning room' (which was well known to Hogwarts by now), and walked through the door that appeared.

Sirius plopped down on one of the couches. _Ahh, just like it's always been. You can't plan mayhem while you're uncomfortable!_

Soon enough, the other three Marauders walked in. "All right, what's your idea, Sirius?" James asked, grinning. Experience told him Sirius Black's ideas tended to be extravagant, hilarious, and, with the occasional bit of simplification, excellent for the Marauders.

"Well, you know how we're doing animal-to-animal in Transfiguration right now?"

"Yeah . . ."

"And you know how the Astronomy Tower is the unofficial couples' spot on campus?"

James grinned. "I think I see where you're going with this."

"How about sticking a cow up there?"

Remus and Peter grinned too. "I think I _like_ where you're going with this," Remus said. "What'll we use for the base animal?"

Sirius held up the frog he had been practicing with. "This was a rhesus monkey when McGonagall gave it to me. It's not big enough to stay cow-size for long, but it'll definitely work for eight hours or so, which is more than enough time for our needs—"

"—and when they wake up and go to investigate," Peter said, "the thing's not there anymore. Great idea, guys! Everyone'll think the Tower is haunted by the spirit of a cow!"

"Or they'll ascribe it to the unintended consequences of calling their significant other a cow," James suggested, laughing. "Either way, mischief managed!"

"So, when do you want to do it?" Sirius asked.

"How about now? I brought the cloak."

"And I've got the map," Remus said. "Here. I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Sirius grinned wickedly. "The Marauders strike again!"

* * *

He had been waiting for this night since the beginning of term. Sure, she had only known him a couple weeks, but they liked each other and shared a complete disregard for any sense of responsibility, be it to academics or to the outside world. What more did a successful relationship need?

He opened the door at the top of the Tower and both of them walked out into the open sky. It was pitch-black, a new moon night. They smiled invisibly and moved towards each other.

_Moooooo._

"What was that?" she asked, frantic.

He laughed. "Probably just Filch closing the front gates or something. Don't be silly, honey."

_Moooooo._

The sound was closer this time, and was most definitely _not_ a gate of any sort.

"Again, what _was_ that?"

The laugh this time was more shaky. "Oh, I'm sure it was just something in the Forbidden Forest, a werewolf howling at the moon." He looked up. "Er, I mean—"

She felt something sharp and rough touch her left arm.

She screamed.

"RUN!" he yelled.

They ran.

They ran straight into Filch, in fact, who proceeded to assign them a week of detentions for disturbing the peace, being found out of bounds, and lying to avoid punishment ("There's no way in hell there's a _cow_ on top of that damnable tower!")

When the Marauders heard about it, as they inevitably would, they laughed themselves sick. The couple who had been implicated was _quite_ deserving of everything they got.

They were Slytherins, after all.

* * *

"Now, what have they done this week?" McGonagall asked exasperatedly at the next staff meeting. "I haven't _caught_ them for anything, but I feel sure that's a testament to their cunning rather than their reformation."

Professor Dumbldore cocked his head in thought. "Well . . . Minerva, you have been teaching the seventh-years animal-to-animal transfigurations lately, haven't you?"

McGonagall frowned. "Yes, I have. You don't think—"

"I had two students come to me a few days ago," Dumbledore said. "They complained of the most intriguing thing—a monster on the upper level of the Astronomy Tower that had attacked them the previous night."

"That monster wouldn't happen to go by the name of Argus Filch, would he?" asked Professor Flitwick, chuckling.

Filch, of course, was absent from the staff meeting.

"No, these two students were accosted by Argus while they ran, screaming, from the 'monster'. I took it upon myself to investigate their claims, however ludicrous. Would you care to guess what I found?"

Harry was grinning widely by now; the Marauders had told him the story, and he thought it an excellent prank. Even Hermione had given her support, as had Lily.

"Why don't you just tell me, Albus?" McGonagall asked exasperatedly.

"Very well. I found a rhesus monkey that had been transfigured into a cow."

The staff erupted in laughter. "A _cow_?" McGonagall muttered. "Well, that's a new one . . . and quite capable, too, for a base animal that small . . ."

"Not to mention quite creative. Perhaps we should institute such a bovine as a permanent guard of the Tower," Harry joked. "It certainly seemed to deter that particular overamorous couple . . ."

Most of the staff laughed again, but Trelawney scowled. "You clearly do not understand the nuances of the Sight, my dear," she said contemptuously. "The cow is a symbol of death! Of death, I tell you!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, Trelawney's eyes rolled back in their sockets, and when her voice came out again, it was completely different from its usual tone. Harry stopped his eyes mid-roll. _Oh, fudge . . ._

"_The time of destiny approaches. . . . Ere one year and one month hence, the forces of Light and Darkness shall clash, the Twelve against the One, the last stand of both, each by three thrice defied. . . . Ere the serpent's downfall, the final lion must cease to be such, or else each destroy the other. . . . The time of destiny approaches . . ._"

And just as quickly as the state had come upon her, it left; Trelawney returned to normal, blinking dazedly. "So sorry, I must have dozed off . . ."

"That is quite all right, Sibyll," Dumbledore soothed. He shot a significant glance at the staff; the message of _don't mention anything out of the ordinary_ couldn't have been clearer.

Harry stood up. "Excuse me, Professors, but I have some urgent personal business to attend to. If I may . . ."

"Feel free, Harry," Dumbledore said lightly. "I believe our business for today is concluded in any event."

"Thank you, Headmaster." He walked out the door, his heart beating fiercely.

**Ginny, we need to talk. Den. Now.**


	7. The Line of the Lion

**Chapter 7: The Line of the Lion**.

**Ginny, we need to talk. Den. Now.**

Harry received her wordless affirmation, nodded once, and strode off toward his office. It was the closest Den entrance to the staffroom, and this was something he _really_ needed to talk about _right now_.

_Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place . . ._

Soon enough, he landed in the middle of the Den's central room, just as Ginny pushed open the Gryffindor bedroom door. "All right, I'm here," she said. "Why'd you want to talk? And why in the Den?"

Harry looked toward the wall. "Two big soft chairs, please, facing each other," he said absently. The room complied, and he turned back to face Ginny, regarding her intently. "Something I just realized that concerns us pretty much as highly as it's possible to be concerned. And I feel more comfortable in the Den than anywhere else in the castle." He sat down in one of the chairs, Ginny in the other, and sighed deeply.

"All right. Trelawney just made a prophecy in the staff meeting."

Ginny looked surprised. "Another one?"

"Yep, and it's not good. 'Ere one year and two months hence, the forces of Light and Darkness shall clash, the Twelve against the One, the last stand of both, each by three thrice defied.' That's the first part."

"So you think that means it will be this Halloween?"

"Yeah." Harry looked morosely at his hands. "I just don't— I can't— I don't see how I'll be able to win . . ."

Ginny reached over and lifted Harry's head by the chin. "You're retreating into yourself again," she said with a wan smile. "My job to prevent that, remember? The _Twelve_ against the One. Not just you. All of us."

Harry looked slightly cheered. "And 'each by three thrice defied' . . . I think that means, collectively, the Pack is going to defy Voldemort three times, probably not the same people each time, and we can expect three attacks on us by him." He shrugged weakly. "Which is expected, I guess. But that's not the worst part . . ."

"What is it?" Ginny asked softly.

Harry was silent for a few seconds; when he spoke, it sounded far-away, as if he was lost in contemplation and not really aware of where he was. "'Ere the serpent's downfall, the final lion must cease to be such, or else each destroy the other.' Which ties into the last two lines of Danger's prophecy, the ones I completely forgot about until now . . . 'The lion's line continue must / Ere that of serpent fall to dust.'" He chuckled mirthlessly. "I hope you can see where this is going."

Ginny thought for a few seconds. "Yes, I think I can," she said matter-of-factly. "Danger's prophecy says one of the Gryffindor heirs needs to have a baby before Voldemort can die. And Trelawney's makes it clear that it's us, and tells us what will happen otherwise."

Mutely, still staring at the floor, Harry nodded.

Ginny grinned suddenly. "Well, I have every intention of avoiding the 'otherwise', and I sure hope you do too. I plan to have you around for quite a while to come, Harry." Her voice dropped, became more timid. "So—when?"

Harry looked up at her suddenly. "_What?_" he asked loudly. "Gin, you just plan to go along with this? Risk everything—bringing a child into the world in the middle of a war—for the sake of some prophecy we don't even really understand?"

"Yes, I do," Ginny said fiercely, her tentativeness disappearing in the face of Harry's reaction. "Risk a good deal, sure—but _gain_ everything." Her voice softened. "Harry, the Founders _like_ you. They like all of us—they named us their honorary Heirs! They wouldn't give us advice that would get us hurt."

"They've done it before," Harry grumbled.

"Hey!" Alex's voice interrupted. "That was for a specific reason! _You_, Harry James Potter, needed to prove you could get around your indefatigable lone-wolf complex. Because I guarantee you, if you can't, you might win the battle, but you won't win the war."

Harry frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

Alex remained silent—Harry was sure he was smiling smugly in that Slytherin bedroom—so it was Ginny who answered. "I know you, Harry," she said emphatically. "If you don't have something to look forward to coming home to, you're going to hatch some hare-brained plan to bring Voldemort down with you."

"What?" Harry retorted angrily. "I— guess you're right," he conceded. "You _do_ know me too well."

Ginny grinned. "Guilty as charged."

Harry sighed and turned to face the Slytherin bedroom door. "All right, Alex, so you _did_ have my best interests at heart. Now why in Merlin's name did you slap _this_ little requirement on us? What purpose could it serve?"

A pause. "Well?" Harry repeated.

Alex was a long time in answering. "Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to tell you that," he said finally. "I will say, though, that you shouldn't only take the advice of your brain on this one. Ginny does know what she's talking about. And I will say no more."

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands. Suddenly, he shook himself, sitting up straight. "Well, all right. Tell me what an idiot I'm being, then. Merlin knows I probably need to hear it."

"Not an idiot," Ginny said. "Just Harry. Just the person you are. You want to keep everyone safe."

"Yeah."

"Except yourself."

"Er, _what?_"

Ginny smiled indulgently at him. "You'll never get it, will you? And you _need_ to get it. Here, could I use your Pensieve? I think it might help my case more than a little."

Harry Summoned it and handed it to her. "Go ahead."

Wordlessly, Ginny extracted several memories in sequence, depositing them in the rune-engraved stone bowl. She looked up at Harry, took his left hand in her right, and plunged them both into the silvery thoughts.

Harry blinked. They were in the Shrieking Shack, right after Snape had walked in on Sirius's explanation of himself. "_Expelliarmus!_" shouted all three members of the memory trio. Snape went flying through the wall.

_Now that I think about it, that spell really shouldn't've worked that well . . ._

Idly, Harry wondered how Ginny _had_ these memories, before he realized she could get at them through their link.

The scene shifted to some twenty minutes later. "_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry drove off over a hundred Dementors with the charm.

_And 'I knew I could do it because I already did it' _really_ isn't an explanation that holds much water._

Another memory, this one of his first year, as he tried to dispel Hermione's worries in the room just before the Philosopher's Stone. "But what if You-Know-Who's with him?" "Well, I got lucky once. I might get lucky again."

_That sounds both incredibly brave and incredibly stupid, in hindsight._

A minute of his first detention with Umbridge. Harry winced sympathetically as he watched the Blood Quill cutting into the skin on the back of his memory self's right hand.

"You endured that because you didn't want McGonagall to get in trouble, remember?" asked Ginny beside him.

Yes, Harry remembered that quite well.

More scenes flashed by. The "D.A. Six" in the Forbidden Forest, Harry trying to convince them not to follow him to the Department of Mysteries. A few scenes from the battle that ensued, where again, Harry's spells had more power than they should've—and all, he was beginning to realize, when they were directed toward protecting _someone else_. Trying to convince Dumbledore to use Harry's blood for the gate in the Horcrux cave. The clear pain written on his face as he had to force the Headmaster to drink that vile potion . . .

Harry shook himself slightly as a stray thought presented itself. _No, I did not look _anything_ like Snape on that blasted tower,_ he reassured himself.

Still, considering how Severus Snape had proven himself in this timeline, he had to wonder . . .

The scene changed again, to what Harry was sure was the last memory. It was certainly the most poignant of them; everything seemed more sharply defined, and Harry was sure this was one of Ginny's own memories, and a strong one at that. And as soon as he heard the words out of his memory self's mouth, he knew why.

"Ginny, we can't keep seeing each other anymore. . . . I've got things to do now, I—" . . .

"I always knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that's why I like you so much." . . .

They were pulled out of the Pensieve, once again sitting face-to-face.

These were all events they had discussed, though Ginny had actually been present for only a few of them. Harry found himself marveling, not for the first time, at just _how well_ Ginny understood him.

"Thanks."

"Do you see now?" Ginny asked softly. "You're pretty good at defending yourself. You've got the Outstanding N.E.W.T. to show for it. But what you really feel meant to do—what you really feel you _have_ to do—is defend _others_. You're perfectly willing to take an undue burden onto yourself to keep them safe. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "Yes, you are. I never really thought about it that way, but yes, you are."

"Do you really think you could've won at the Department of Mysteries without us?"

"No, definitely not." Despite himself, Harry chuckled slightly. "I would've been a sitting duck for the Death Eaters."

"You feel like you have to protect us, but you know you can't always. You'd rather not have people you care about in peril—or not there at all in this case—because if something happened, you'd never forgive yourself."

"Right in one. Honestly, Gin, I think you know me better than I know myself sometimes."

Ginny waved a hand dismissively. "Years of experience." Her voice dropped, became deadly serious. "The prophecy basically gives us a choice. If we do this, you might win, and you might survive it. If we don't, you _will_ win, but you _won't_ survive it. And I don't care which one of those _you_ want, Harry James Potter. I'm only going to accept the former."

"You're really not going to let this go, are you?" It was meant as light-hearted, but it wasn't taken as such.

"No, I'm not!" Ginny said angrily. "_Why_ do you feel like you have to protect everyone, anyway? I honestly don't know, and I'm curious why you do it."

"Because I love you," Harry said sincerely. "Not just you, although I do, a ton . . . I love all my friends, in the sense that their well-being is more important to me than my own. Remember, Gin, I spent ten years of my life with the Dursleys. They weren't too keen on the whole self-worth thing. Having such great friends helps, but sometimes I still feel like you're all more important than I am."

"Consider this, then," Ginny said, her voice slightly strained. "You were born in July 1980. From what Sirius mentioned summer before fourth year, that was when the war was worst. Your parents were active members in the Order of the Phoenix. They _knew_ what they were getting themselves into. And they had you anyway. Do you have any doubt that they loved you?"

"Of course not!" Harry said hotly.

"I talked with Remus about this a while back—old Remus, not young Remus. You were _everything_ to them. They lived for you. They fought for you." Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "In the end, they died for you."

Harry smiled thinly, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Thanks, Gin. But still . . . I don't see what this has to do with why we were originally talking."

"It has _everything_ to do with that. Look, Harry, being a parent is dead scary. I won't deny that, especially in the time we're in. _I'm_ scared. I'm only seventeen, remember. But it's also rewarding, fulfilling, . . . it's something greater than you, greater than us, even. And if you can get around the fear—" She paused, taking a breath. "I think you would make a good dad, Harry. I really do."

_She's right. She really is . . . she's right. I was being stupid and selfish and scared._

Harry stood up, enfolded Ginny in his arms, and gave her a hug somewhat remniscent of Molly Weasley's in its intensity. "You're right," he whispered. "You always are. We're at war, but still . . . life goes on, and this is one of the most important parts of that. I don't want to have to take Voldemort down with me, either."

**Thank you, Harry,** Ginny said mentally, her head at the moment rather firmly buried against Harry's shoulder. **I think you made the right decision.**

"So do I," he said with a wistful smile. He thought for a second, then grinned. "How does a Christmas wedding sound to you?"

Ginny's response, though non-verbal, gave Harry no doubt that she would like that very much indeed.

* * *

The next day, which was a Sunday, the two of them arranged a meeting with the Headmaster.

"Ah, Harry, Ginny. I assume your presence here is due to Professor Trelawney's prophecy of yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, "and one other." He recited the pertinent lines of both. "Professor, do you agree that these imply that the final confrontation will come a year from Halloween, and that I can only survive if I have a child by then?"

Dumbledore sighed; he had certainly never seen students in _this_ dilemna before. "Yes, I find that I must agree with that interpretation, as much as I wish things were otherwise. Tell me, have the two of you discussed this?"

"Extensively," said Ginny. She smiled. "And we decided we both want Harry to survive. We're planning on getting married this Christmas."

Dumbledore nodded. "Excellent. I admire your foresight in this matter. I presume you came to me in order to work out how the school will handle this?"

"That's correct, Professor," said Harry.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Well, I doubt it will present any great difficulty. As a professor here, Harry already has his own quarters, and while married students here are rare, we do have them occasionally. Generally, the majority of the student body is none the wiser."

"Well, we're probably a bit more than you're used to in cases like this, Professor," Ginny pointed out with a slight smile. "I'm actually going to be pregnant during the year, and that would raise a _lot_ of unwanted questions . . . is there any way to magically hide it or something?"

"Ah, yes, there are Concealing Charms for such purposes." He chuckled softly. "That situation, also, is not so uncommon as you might think. Indeed, few instances of it are as _prepared_, shall we say, as yours. Madam Pomfrey does have some experience in the area, and of course she will keep everything completely confidential. Is there anything else you feel we need to cover?"

"No, Professor, I think that's it," Harry said after a quick mental check with Ginny. "Thank you."

"But of course, Harry," was the old Headmaster's twinkly-eyed response. "I wish you both the very best."

**It's a good thing I didn't sign up for Quidditch, I guess!**

Harry grinned. **A good thing indeed. I don't even want to think about what Madam Pomfrey would say if you were on the team 'in such a condition'.**

* * *

Ginny may not have been on the team, but Sirius was, and loving every minute of it. He was just finishing a practice, in fact.

_Quidditch is even more fun this year, if that's possible. My best friend is Captain, and we have a great team—new little second-year Seeker who's pretty darn good, James as a Chaser, me and Aletha as Beaters—_

Idly, he wondered if his last thought was the cause of his first one.

"You've got the Patented James Potter Look of Affection going on, Padfoot," James joked as they walked back up to the castle, brooms in tow. "Who is it this time?"

_Guess it is, then. No need for James to know, though._ "No one," he said nonchalantly.

"Is 'no one' the code name for 'same person an alternate version of myself wound up marrying', now?"

"Well, with you, it was a code name for 'Lily Evans' for several years there . . ."

"Hey! At least I always _admitted_ my affection for her!"

"And acted like a great prat to go along with it!"

Having skillfully deflected the conversation onto less sensitive topics, Sirius was free to consider the more sensitive one privately.

_Never thought I'd admit this to myself, but I'm falling for Aletha Freeman._

_Someone smack me. Hard._

With no one having heard his mental plea, Sirius was forced to do the deed himself.

_Ouch._

James said nothing, just smiled knowingly and kept walking.

_The problem is, I'm absolutely sure she doesn't feel the same in reverse. Sure, she puts up with me—I'd even say she's a good friend—but we're screaming at each other at least every other week. Not the best foundation upon which to build a relationship._

Sirius grinned. _But then again, I'm not a Marauder for something. We may be uncouth louts, but we're damn good at being charming._

_Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a plan . . ._

The one thing Sirius hadn't picked up from James Potter's misadventures, apparently, was that _girls don't like to be "impressed."_

During the following week, Sirius put his plan into motion. He tried, at least. He was nothing but gentlemanly around Aletha—holding doors, pulling chairs out, you name it, he did it.

Evidently, he had no idea it was possible to be _too_ gentlemanly—but Aletha did. After a few days, she started glaring at Sirius even more fiercely than usual when he tried to be "charming," and he backed down.

_For now, at least. Need to try a different method of approach._

His chance came on Saturday the twenty-fourth, when Dumbledore stood up at breakfast with an announcement. "Students, today will be the first Hogsmeade visit day of the year. You may leave any time after nine o'clock; be sure that you are back by five P.M. And do enjoy yourselves."

Instantly, four male Pack members each turned to a female Pack member and asked, "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

_Same wording, same time,_ Sirius noted idly. _Interesting._

Three of them immediately responded, "Of course!" Aletha raised her eyebrows, looked at Sirius for a few seconds, and said, "All right."

He really should've known then that he wasn't off to a terribly good start.

"So, where do you want to go?" Aletha asked conversationally. _Please, _please_ don't start acting like an idiot . . ._

"Why, anywhere you wish, of course," Sirius responded with a flourish.

_Urggh._ Her expression became inscrutable. "The Three Broomsticks, then."

They reached the pub, and Sirius opened the door and held it for Aletha. "After you, milady," he said gallantly.

_That stinking idiot! I—grr—_

The two continued in this fashion for about an hour before it just got too much for Aletha to bear. She stood violently, almost knocking over their table. "You, Sirius Black, are being a stuck-up, arrogant, as-bad-as-last-year _idiot_," she snarled. "I thought you'd changed. I thought you might actually care about _me_, instead of your own stinking ego. But no, I see it was all an act. Good work, Black. Is this how you treat _all_ the girls you go out with?" She whirled around and stalked away without waiting for a response, leaving Sirius to just stare open-mouthed at his retreating date.

* * *

Den-night came on the twenty-seventh. Sirius and Aletha happened to stumble in at the same time (coming from different entrances, of course). When Aletha saw him, she very nearly turned around and left.

"The two of you!" Danger shouted exasperatedly. "Aletha, Sirius, _come here_."

Grudgingly, they did as asked.

"All right, now _what's going on_? The two of you have been walking on eggshells around each other for days."

"I'm not going to tell you in front of _him_," Aletha said furiously.

Danger shrugged. "Fine, have it your way. Remus, could you please handle Sirius?" Remus nodded and walked over to him. Each of them cast a Privacy Spell, Danger's including her and Aletha.

_Good thing everyone was early; moon isn't rising for another twenty minutes, at least, and this _really_ needs to be dealt with._

"All right, Letha, what in God's name is going on here?"

Aletha rolled her eyes. "Sirius had been acting more himself around me lately. He can actually be kind of sweet sometimes—you are _not_ to tell Remus that," she added suddenly. Danger just smiled benignly. "Oh, bugger. Anyway, since last week, he's been all 'gentlemanly' on me, except it's completely overdone and completely fake. I finally got him to stop, but then on Saturday he asked me out to Hogsmeade and he was at it _again_! I basically stormed out on him in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, and we haven't spoken since."

"Ah." Danger's eyes swirled with blue for a few seconds. "How interesting. Remus tells me Sirius only really realized he _likes_ you after Quidditch practice Sunday night."

"He _what_? He must be joking, honestly. I could _tell_ he was posturing for me! I know it!"

Danger grinned in her usual manner: just short of irritating. "Posturing, possibly, but not about how he feels about you. Actually, Letha, I think Sirius is trying to overcompensate for what he feels is _you_ not liking _him_." Her voice dropped conspiratorally. "He's trying to charm you in classic Marauder style."

Aletha laughed outright. "Oh, that's rubbish. In my opinion, he's much more likable _without_ the stupid attitude. And he should know that 'charming' me won't get anywhere. I mean, honestly!"

"You know that. I know that. Most of the Pack probably does. However, Sirius, being blinded by his affections, isn't thinking one hundred percent clearly when it comes to you.."

"Well, he's blown it now. If he kept acting the way he had been over the summer—you know, actually being _kind_ to me, sympathetic when the you-know-what hit the fan—I might've actually wound up asking _him_ out. But then he had to go and decide he's not good enough as he is—ugh, I just don't know _what_ to do."

"My advice?" Danger suggested. "Give him another chance. Boys can be amazingly thick sometimes. I've told you about Remus's reaction to my lupus, right?"

Aletha snorted. "Yeah. _That_ was idiocy embodied. Or just ask Ginny to regale you with tales of Harry's hero complex; she can go on for _ages_. So I guess you're right. He'll get another chance, _if_—and only if—he acts like himself."

Danger was silent for a few seconds, until her grin grew into one that could only be considered wicked. "Don't worry, he says he will."

"_Danger!_" Aletha was scandalized. "Don't tell me you've told Remus everything we said!"

As requested, Danger remained silent.

"Witch."

"And proud of it. The Granger-Lupin Arbitration, we'll call it."

Aletha groaned good-naturedly as Danger and Remus cancelled their respective Privacy Spells.

She turned to Sirius and smiled benignly. "Looking for another chance, I take it?"

"Yeah." Sirius sighed, looking uncharacteristically downtrodden. "Look, Aletha, I'm sorry I acted like such a prat. But as I'm sure Danger has told you by now, I honestly didn't think there was any way you could actually like me. I'll try to be better-behaved now." He transformed into Padfoot and looked at her dolefully.

Laughing, Aletha walked over and patted him on the head. "Good dog, Padfoot. As long as you don't make any more messes in the house, I won't throw you out, don't worry."

Padfoot snorted and retransformed back into human form. "Hey! I resemble that remark!"

"You do indeed," said Aletha, not missing a beat. "However, I believe the word you're looking for is 'resent'."

Harry chose that moment to come down from his office. "What on Earth is everyone laughing about?"

That, of course, only set them to laughing harder.

**Just Aletha and Sirius being their usual selves,** Ginny said mentally. **You had to be there.**

"All right, fine, fine. Are we all here?" He looked around; Ron and Hermione weren't present, but that couldn't really be helped, all things considered. "Yep, looks like we are. Okay, then." He sat down, his smile fading slightly. "Be welcome, all, to this den-night. We are Pack now, Pack together."

"Pack forever," a chorus of voices responded. Harry noticed that Aletha looked rather fondly at Sirius as she said it; he, of course, was busy looking somewhere else.

**I'd say it should take them over a century to finally get their collective act together . . .** Harry noted.

Ginny finished the thought: **. . . but if Ron and Hermione can manage it, so can they.**

"All right, down to business. First of all, I don't think we ever mentioned the last four lines of Danger's prophecy. As I recall, I was rather caught up in the two before that."

Danger looked askance. "Oh, damn," she muttered. "And those were important, too . . . 'The lion's line continue must / Ere that of serpent fall to dust'. Harry, does that mean what I think it means?"

He smiled grimly. "Yep. And Trelawney made _another_ one of her damn prophecies. Here, I'll show you." He walked over to the Gryffindor bedroom, where he had kept his Pensieve ever since the discussion with Ginny, and used it to show the Pack the original prophecy.

"So we have until a year from Halloween to prepare?" Lily asked, deep in thought. "And we're going to face him three times before that?"

"I didn't like it either, but yeah, that's right. And the second part backs up the end of Danger's prophecy, along with the delightful tidbit that if I _don't_ have a kid, me and Voldemort will kill each other."

Those of the Pack who hadn't understood the prophecy from its verbatim contents—namely, three-fourths of the Marauders—started at that. "You've got to be kidding me," James muttered. "Talk about pressue!"

"Except it's not," Ginny said lightly. "Because Harry and I talked about it, and—after judicious use of the Pensieve and a good deal of should've-been-unnecessary hero-complex circumvention on my part—we decided it's a great idea." Harry smiled sheepishly. "So we're going to be getting married on Christmas, and you're all invited, of course."

There was much squealing from the female contingent of the Pack. "Congratulations," James said sincerely once it had all died down a bit. "This marks yet another of the strange occurrences of my life—my son's getting married before I am." Harry laughed.

Suddenly, Remus shivered, and by unspoken consent he and Danger retired to one of the side rooms for his transformation. Conversation found a slightly awkward lull as the moon became visible through the Den's magical window; all of them knew what Remus used to go through, and it wasn't at all pleasant . . .

Seeing Moony coming out of the Gryffindor room with a wolf-grin plastered on his face went a good way towards alleviating that, thought.

"Hey, do any of us know what those jewels on the pendants are for?" Lily asked some time later.

"Nope, but I know someone who does," said Harry. "Oy! Alex!" He waved his wand at the Slytherin bedroom door, opening it so as to get a clear view of the often-infuriating but still friendly original Heir. "What are those jewels for, anyway?"

The portrait smiled. "Ah, I was wondering when you would ask that. Each of your pendant sets has four unique abilities, one conferred by each House. In general terms, that's the light and warnings from Rick, the intangibility from me, the chain flexibility from Gaga, and the mindlink from Weena."

Most of the Pack looked dumbfounded. "_Gaga? Weena?_" Sirius asked incredulously.

"Never use those names in front of them," Alex added hastily. "They absolutely _hate_ them. Helga has threatened to throw anyone in the lake who calls her that; I think Paul actually got caught once—" Harry snickered— "and Rowena's punishments remain unspecified, but would certainly be imaginative and nasty." His image shuddered. "_Very_ nasty. Anyway, the jewels can either extend your pendants' ability from that House, or confer it to another object. Limited-use, temporary, one jewel per extenuating circumstance—but I'm pretty sure you'll still find them handy."

"Wow," Harry said. "That would've been _so_ useful during some of our adventures . . . make the Prophecy intangible, or just have an unblockable way of communicating . . ."

"Remember, though," Alex said, "that you can only use the ones you have. For instance, Harry, you could only use the Gryffindor-powered ones. Unless—no, never mind. I will tell you, though, that apart from the obvious, they're good at finding people."

"Thanks, Alex!" Ginny said.

"Yeah, thanks!"

"Any time. You _are_ our Heirs, remember? Good luck, now. I'll stop bothering you." He walked out of his frame.

"Well, that was enlightening," said Lily.

"Enlightening?" said Sirius. "That was bloody brilliant!"

"_Sirius_," Aletha chided absently. "_Language_."

Danger snorted. "This from the woman who just said 'bugger' to me not an hour ago?"

"Oh, you—"

"PILLOW FIGHT!" yelled the Marauders. Moony barked in agreement.

The Den, of course, could supply them with all the pillows they might ever want.

"So," Lily said breathlessly when they were exhausted, searching for a change of topic. "How are classes, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Oh, they're great! Apart from the endless homework to grade, and I swear I didn't even give that much of it—I don't know how McGonagall manages it, there are some days I think she must've invented a grading spell—it's a lot of fun. The kids like me, I'm teaching them useful stuff . . . honestly, it's how I _wish_ my Defense classes were most years, except third. Professor Lupin did a great job, and Moody was interesting if a Death Eater in disguise, but the rest—meh. I'm not quite so surprised anymore that Dumbledore was so quick to hire me. Candidates in short supply."

"Well, we know more about Defense than most of our teachers did," Sirius said with a laugh. "Hey, Moony, you should teach next year!"

The wolf blinked, then winked. "Maybe," Sirius translated. "Hey, I'm sure _Danger_ would love for you to teach!" he teased.

"Well, I'm sure he'd be brilliant, and it _would_ solve the three-day problem . . ." Danger mused.

"Who knew it, Padfoot?" James teased. "You can actually give good advice once in a while!"

"Oh, I'll get you . . ." Sirius transformed into Padfoot, James into Prongs, and following their lead, so did Danger and Harry. The four Animagi and the werewolf roughhoused with each other playfully, moving from the den room out onto the Quidditch pitch, as the remaining five members of the Pack looked on in amusement.

"Can't wait until I can join them," Lily said wistfully. "I'm making good progress, but with Head Girl and all, I don't have that much time to practice. Anyone else close?"

Ginny raised her hand. "I'm almost there—just need my head transfiguration, and I think Ron's similar. Maybe next den-night. You still have some of that potion?"

"Yep," Lily said with a grin. "James told me all about how it curdled on their third try because they couldn't find Peter in time—but apparently, if you don't add the last ingredient until you're ready to drink it, it can keep indefinitely. Just tell me when you need some, Ginny—or any of you, for that matter."

"Thanks," said Ginny. "It's pretty ironic, some of the pairings here—we've got an owl with a rat, two felines with canines, . . . Useful, though."

"Not to mention fun," said Aletha, looking out on the still-playful animals. "I can't wait until I can swoop in and carry that big dog off to drop him in the lake!"

Suddenly, Sirius disengaged from the pack and barked ferociously at Aletha for several seconds. Just when Aletha was starting to get worried, he stopped and let his tongue hang out playfully.

"Darn, should've remembered dogs have better hearing than us," she muttered.


	8. Unexpected

**Chapter 8: Unexpected**.

"And— ouch! That one's gotta hurt, folks!"

It was October 22, and the first Quidditch match of the season was going strong. Predictably, Harry thought from his seat in the crowds with the rest of the Pack, it was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the House of the Serpent was up to its usual dirty tricks. Their Beaters were causing undue damage this game; no one could see why, but a Gryffindor Chaser's broom had been nearly snapped in half, and the Keeper's knee was looking like a mess after the most recent impact.

Another Bludger came careening toward the Gryffindor Seeker, hit by the same person. _Interesting how all _his _hits seem to break things, while the other Beater's are normal . . ._

"And again! The Slytherins are really reaching new heights of depravity this year— er, sorry, Professor. But wait! Gryffindor Beater Aletha Freeman dives and smacks it back toward the Snakes. Nice play there, very nice, but it looks like she's lost a good chunk of her bat along with it . . ."

Grinning at the Gryffindors' determination—Aletha might as well not have even noticed the broken bat—Harry watched the match play out.

In the end, the Slytherins won—but only just barely. Gryffindor's Chasers, led by James, continued to dominate the match even in spite of the now-cracked broom that one of their number was riding, but one of that foul Beater's slams managed to hit the Gryffindor Seeker clear in the chest, and he was in no condition to play further. The opposing Seeker seized the opportunity and caught the Snitch.

"And Slytherin wins by ten points." The announcer sounded as if he was pronouncing his own death. "Guess that proves the adage wrong about 'cheating gets you nowhere in life'—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw McGonagall pull the magical microphone out of said announcer's reach.

_That was really irregular, though,_ he couldn't help but notice. _I wish I could just run over and check their bats or something, see if they've been cursed—I have a feeling they have—_

_Oh, wait. I'm a professor now. I _can _do that._

He ran down the stairs leading to the stands—and almost collided with that Beater. Up close, Harry recognized him; this was the kid who had tried to shoot a very nasty curse at him during one of the "demonstrations" in Defense class.

"Mr. Pritchard," Harry said.

The boy stopped short. His gaze took in Harry's presence, and he scowled. "What do you want, Mudblood?"

_Merlin, what an idiot._ "One, the lesson from yesterday's class has evidently not sunk in. Ten points from Slytherin; I will not tolerate that term, no matter who you're addressing, and next time you say it, it'll be twenty. Two, I'm not even a Muggle-born."

"I don't care about your last name, you're still a Mudblood in my mind unless you can prove—"

_If this boy isn't a Death Eater in a few years, I'll eat my hat. And he's an idiot to boot._ "Twenty points further from Slytherin, Mr. Pritchard." The Slytherin shut his mouth, still glaring furiously. "And third, I wish to see your Beater's bat."

Said bat was currently clutched possessively against Augustus Pritchard's chest. "You don't have any right to do that!"

"Need I remind you, Mr. Pritchard, that I am a professor at this school, and the Defense professor at that? I witnessed some irregular behavior during the match, and I wish to verify that you were not the cause. I have every right to do so."

Fuming, Pritchard handed over the bat.

"Excellent. _Prior Incanto_." The ghostly image of a Bludger rose above the bat, then glinted as if metallic.

_And now I have a hunch. Think James mentioned this hex before . . ._ Harry waved his wand, conjuring a small wooden ball, and smacked it with the bat.

It turned into iron.

"How—_interesting_," Harry said, barely managing to keep the disgust out of his voice. "You, Mr. Pritchard, are going to accompany me to Madam Hooch. Now, before the stands clear."

One angry Slytherin in tow, Harry walked up to the referee. "Excuse me? I just checked into Mr. Pritchard's bat here, and it seems it was hexed to turn any wooden object it hit into iron."

Angrily, Madam Hooch turned the full force of her hawklike gaze on the unfortunate Slytherin. "Is this correct, Mr. Pritchard?"

"I— I don't know what you're talking about!" the boy insisted, but his hesitation was noticeable.

"Unfortunately for you, I do. _Sonorus._" Her voice rose for all the crowd. "Attention, everyone. I have just been made aware of a possible irregularity with the Beaters' bats, which throws the outcome of this match into question. A full investigation will be conducted, and our decision announced tomorrow morning at breakfast. Thank you."

The Slytherins looked furious, the Gryffindors hopeful, and Augustus Pritchard a tad fearful under his mask of incredulity.

"Madam Hooch?" Harry asked politely. "Would you like me to help you investigate, or do you want to handle this yourself?"

"I'll handle it myself, Professor Potter, but thank you for the offer. Simply disgusting, I tell you! I have never seen cheating like it in my _life_!"

Harry walked away, confident that things would be pursued to the degree necessary. _Madam Hooch seemed angry enough to hit Pritchard with his own bat, there . . ._

* * *

"Ah, Miss Freeman, do come in, please." 

Aletha walked into Dumbledore's office, still in her Quidditch robes. "What is it, Professor?"

"Your Beater's bat was damaged by a Bludger hit by Augustus Pritchard of Slytherin, wasn't it?"

She smiled grimly. "Yes, sir, it was. I have it with me—here. I _thought_ there was something wrong with that Bludger, it really shouldn't've broken the bat—"

"There was." Dumbledore's expression was uncharacteristically grim. "From what we can tell so far, Mr. Pritchard's bat seems to have been cursed to turn every wooden object it hit into iron." Aletha grimaced. "Exactly. This is quite a serious matter, all things considered; Mr. Hugh is still in the hospital after being hit, and it is unclear how well he will recover. Did the Beating lead to any direct injuries on your part?"

Aletha shrugged. "Well, one indirect one. I managed to scrape my shin pretty badly," she said, showing Dumbledore the bottom of her right leg. "And yes, I know Madame Pomfrey could have healed it right up, Professor. But I wanted a reminder of why it's not a good idea to keep playing with a broken bat." She smiled grimly. "Besides, all good Quidditch players have scars, and it's down there on my leg, so it's not as if people are going to be seeing it every day. Right?"

Dumbledore stifled a chuckle at the tenacity of the members of his most headstrong House. _That is one of the downsides to their red robes—namely, that blood hardly shows at all, and Gryffindors are just the sort to keep playing while injured . . ._ "Indeed, Miss Freeman," he said aloud. "And I thank you for your cooperation in this matter."

_I wonder, now that her father has effectively deserted her . . . yes, by law I no longer need his permission._ "Tell me, Aletha, have you heard anything about the Order of the Phoenix?"

* * *

Gryffindor was awarded the victory.

* * *

Meanwhile, between taking classes and teaching them, doing homework and grading it, Harry and Ginny—Ginny especially—were making quiet preparations for a certain very special day in both their futures. The first necessity, of course, had been to notify the Weasley parents. The letter had been long, written with Molly's short fuse in mind, the future Potters trying to explain themselves before actually stating their intentions. In the end, though, it had been Arthur Weasley who received it, and his response had been memorable to say the least . . . 

_Dear Ginny, and Harry,_

_Wow. I must say, that is the best justification for marrying early that I have ever heard. Even if it wasn't true, you'd get props for that one, kiddo. But I'm an Order member in a small capacity, and I checked with Dumbledore. It _is _true, I know. And I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. I'm sure you've heard this from your friends before, assuming you've told them, but talk about pressure!_

_I am ever so glad that the two of you have worked this out to the degree that you look forward to it. Those who are unprepared to parent would do better to avoid the role altogether. I'm not sure how much of this you learned growing up, Ginny—I'm still rather embarrassed about it—but let's just say me and Molly didn't have a nice, long talk one day and just _decide _to have kids. They sort of came on their own. We managed—we love each other, as I know you and Harry do, and that really does matter. Despite the occasional squabble, I don't think we could be happier._

_You should know that both me and Molly support you fully in this. Although it's certainly a tad—unconventional—I was able to bring Molly around surprisingly quickly, considering her legendary stubbornness. Between us, I suspect it has something to do with the fact that she doesn't need to overcome a decade plus of vowing to disembowel any boy that gets close to you. (Most parents do. It's a failing, but in my opinion an altogether forgivable one.) And we wish you both the best of luck._

_Yes, we would love to host your wedding at the Burrow! The house has been in the family for ages, and it won't be the first time it's being used for such a happy event. I remember two of _my _brothers got married here, and it was a wonderful ceremony in both cases. I'd hazard a guess that Dumbledore would like to officiate for you; he seems terribly fond of his Defense professor, somehow . . ._

_Don't forget—we're your family, even if we didn't know you until a few months ago, and it's our job to support you in everything you do. Along with a bit of friendly parental advice along the way . . . but honestly, you're too old for that anyway. Just don't be surprised if Molly practically interrogates you on your plans when she sees you on the first day of Christmas break!_

_Love,_

_Dad_

Harry grinned. "Look at him. We send a really careful letter, trying not to provoke your parents' anger no matter what, and he starts waxing eloquent about wedding plans. You are so lucky to have such a great family, Gin."

"They're yours too, remember. And Dad's just like that. When he gets into something, he _really_ gets into it. Remember the Muggle stuff?" Ginny's grin matched his own.

"The fellytone?" Harry said, laughing. "How could I forget?"

* * *

Early in November, Aletha received a note at breakfast asking her to go to the Headmaster's office at her earliest convenience. 

_And "someone is waiting for me", but it doesn't say who . . . how odd._ After showing her note to the rest of the Pack, she did as requested.

The person she found there was quite possibly the last one she would have ever expected.

"Aunt Amy?" Aletha gasped. "You're—"

"A witch, yes," she said with a chuckle. Amy Freeman had the dark skin and dark hair of her brother and niece, though in her case the hair was beginning to gray. Aletha remembered the few visits she had had with her in Pittsburgh fondly; Aunt Amy was a very practical woman, highly devoted to her family, and certainly not someone to cross.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Aletha blurted out, then immediately regretted it. _Gee, nice one, Letha! What a way to greet the aunt you haven't seen in five years!_

Aunt Amy, thankfully, was not offended in the least. "William never knew I was a witch, so he wouldn't have known to tell me you were. Until recently, when your father visited me and started ranting about some 'unnaturalness' that was going to kill you, I had no idea whatsoever. He didn't stay long at my place, though; he refused reason and I just couldn't stand to be around him after a while . . . Come on, sit down. Your Headmaster has told me _quite_ a lot about your activities here." Amy's tone changed somewhat for that last sentence, taking on a distinct air of . . . disapproval, it seemed, but not directed at Aletha . . .

Shrugging, Aletha sat down in one of chintz armchairs the Headmaster had conjured for them and smiled benignly. "Oh, I'm having a great experience here. But I thought you said you worked in an American bank. How do you know Professor Dumbledore?"

Amy laughed. "Oh, I do work in a bank. Noxet Bank, the American branch of Gringotts. I'm the highest-ranked human there, which gives me certain duties—one of which was to attend a financial conference this week about 'the feasibility of using human employees for transaction bases', I think was the official title. Rather boring, if I do say so myself, but at least I had a chance to meet Professor Dumbledore there."

"Oh, I had no idea." Aletha frowned; Amy was looking at her intently, as if some remonstration was on the tip of her tongue. "Er, Aunt Amy, is anything wrong?"

"Ah. You see, Professor Dumbledore had quite an interesting thing to inform me about. As a 'concerned party', I believe he put it. He tells me you've joined a rather dangerous secret organization devoted towards wiping out this Voldemort fellow you've got over here. As you might imagine, I am rather worried by this. Would you care to explain why, Aletha?" There was no question about it anymore; Amy's expression definitely held the implication that Aletha had done something wrong.

_But I haven't!_ Aletha felt a brief wave of indignation, but it was soon drowned out by the cool-headedness that seemed to follow her everywhere. _And I know exactly why, and at least Aunt Amy will listen to me. More than I can say about most adults._ She met her aunt's gaze firmly. "Do you have any idea what Voldemort is really like?"

"I've heard the same stories you have, but no, I can't say I have any first-hand experience. Enlighten me."

"He is a _monster_," Aletha said emphatically. "I'm sure you've heard about most of the terrible things he's done, but considering your lack of reaction to his name, I know it hasn't hit you directly. Over here, _no one says the name_. They're that afraid of him. The Ministry of Magic has Aurors, but they're overworked, understaffed, and can't do everything that needs to be done to defeat him. They're trying to fight a guerilla war with a tiny police force. And I _will not_ let Voldemort win."

"God, I had no idea it was that bad," Aunt Amy muttered; despite herself, Aletha smiled grimly. "But still—do _you_ really need to put yourself in danger like that? You're not seventeen for another month, not even an adult quite yet. I admire your determination, but do you think you might be being a little reckless?"

"Reckless? Not at all, Aunt Amy. In the end, I'm helping the resistance because it's the right thing to do—because I couldn't stand it if he won and I hadn't done my best to prevent that, because I hate to depend on others to fight my battles for me." Aletha's tone was matter-of-fact, unquestionable. "Because if everyone hopes someone else will do it, in the end, no one will."

"Well." Aunt Amy took a deep breath. "I'd say you've convinced me!" Both of them laughed, dispelling some of the tension. "Look, Aletha," she continued, sincerity thick in her voice. "I'm not going to stand in your way on this one. You're devoted to this, and it really is an admirable thing to do. I thought at first that Dumbledore had let you join so young without thinking all of this through, and _that_ was what I was worried about. If you approached this realistically and still are for it . . . well, Letha, you're braver and more principled than I am."

Aletha smiled sheepishly. "More principled, maybe. Braver, I doubt. I'm not going to say this doesn't scare me; it does. But it would scare me more to stand by and watch it happen."

"And _that_ is probably what I admire most about you." Amy's voice lightened considerably. "Well, just remember not all of your family is going to desert you," she said with a smile. "And if you ever want to visit me, I'm still at the same place in Pittsburgh and I'd love to see you, whenever, with whoever. A little spice in my life could never hurt."

The smile grew considerably. "Thanks, Aunt Amy."

_And I can never say how much it means to me that you visited, that you _cared _when I thought no one left in my family did . . ._

_But I think you already know._

* * *

November's den-night came on the twenty-fifth. Harry and Ginny entered the Den early, hiding out under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. The Marauders had pranked his class _again_, and by Merlin, he was going to get them back good on this one! 

_Aletha, dousing my desk with some really smelly potion I couldn't get rid of until Lily told me how—never pegged Mum for a prankster, though I guess I should've—and Sirius, turning me into a monkey in front of the class . . ._

Not for the first time, a Hogwarts teacher was _highly_ regretting that the seventh-years had to learn human-to-animal Transfiguration at some point.

Ginny allowed her amusement to bleed into their link; she was the one who had come up with this prank. **They'll never know what hit them!**

**And a fitting retaliation it is, too.**

Soon enough, everyone had found their way in. Aletha looked around curiously. "Where's Ginny? She's usually here by now."

Sirius frowned and sniffed the air. "I can pick up a trace of her smell, but that could be from earlier or something . . ."

The two chose that moment to strike. With two spells, both shot at the same time, in place of Sirius Black and Aletha Freeman appeared two ridiculous-looking baboons.

Everyone laughed. Harry and Ginny took off the Invisibility Cloak and grinned cheekily.

"Nice one, Ginny, Harry," Remus commented. "I guess you're even now. Though I must say, Sirius's excuse for that last prank really did fall flat. 'All the Marauders promised not to prank you, so one Marauder is still allowed'? Come on! He—"

Remus stopped short, and with good reason. Baboon-Sirius had suddenly seemed to notice he was sitting next to a female of the same species. He started scrambling around her, making odd noises and striking odder poses in what Harry assumed was some sort of simian mating ritual. The Pack's laughter only increased in intensity; James had actually collapsed in mirth.

When the baboons started trying to mount each other, though, Lily intervened and Transfigured them back to humans.

"I am _never_ using human Transfiguration on you again," Sirius muttered, red-faced. "But watch yourself, Potter . . . a Marauder never gives up . . ." He flashed a smile and sat down, pointedly facing away from Harry.

"That was—very odd," was Aletha's comment; Harry could hear how flustered she was, but her dark skin prevented a blush from showing. "I'd prefer if you didn't do that again, thanks. I like my instincts to remain my own. But I'll let you get away with it—_this time only_."

Harry gulped.

"And now you're _really_ even," Remus said with another laugh. "Along with having proven to us the only way in which Sirius and Aletha will ever get together."

That, of course, only set them off again. After a few minutes, even the pranked parties got over their embarrassment and joined in the laughter.

**That,** Harry said to Ginny, **was marvelous.**

**And completely unintended?**

**That too, but the effect was perfect.**

* * *

Rachel lay on her bed in the seventh-year Ravenclaw girls' dormitory, feeling completely overwhelmed and having not the faintest idea what to do to alleviate that. 

_It's back to like it was two years ago, only worse. Because now I _have _the friends, and I still know how they would react. How _he _would react. Pushing away from me, horrified at what had happened—_

_It's his own fault, damnit! Why can't Peter just be strong enough to face the consequences of his actions?_

The thought rose in the back of her mind that she was being somewhat unreasonable about this. She hadn't even mentioned anything to Peter yet. Was it really right for her to judge based on reactions he hadn't even made? Wasn't she being unfairly pessimistic?

_No, I'm being realistic._ The certainty reasserted itself with a vengeance. _When I first started being able to judge things like this, I didn't trust it, I was too hopeful—and look where it got me. Only more shattered than if I'd kept my peace. No friends, no unexpected turnarounds, until I decided it just wasn't worth the risk._

_For most people, it seems, the first reaction is the last one._

Her thoughts began to grow in desperation. _And there's nothing I can do about it. It's always a part of me, for whatever reason—Luna mentioned the Sibyl's Mirror, that might be causing mine too—and it's ruining the friends I have, and I _can't make it stop—

Of their own accord, words tumbled into her mind, memories of a conversation months past. "_And it just seemed like such a burden to me, and I felt like I couldn't go on Seeing, so Brenna told me how to stop it. It was a mistake, I think, but it taught me a lot. You'll understand, when the time comes . . ."_

_I _can _stop it,_ Rachel realized. _And it's not a mistake. It's the best thing there is for me, right now. I don't care what Luna said; I'm going to do it._

She fished out her pendants and grasped one of the blue jewels between thumb and forefinger, concentrating on how much she wished she could be _normal_ for once, learn things like everyone else instead of having outcomes weirdly presented to her before they occurred. "_Nolo videre novi_," she whispered. The gem flared with blue light, then faded and disappeared.

As the light faded, so did that terrible sense of _knowing_, and Rachel found herself able to consider things more logically. _I was right. I can't know how he'll react until he does. And I _know _Peter. He'll stand by me. He knows what it feels like._

_And hiding from the world never helped anyone do anything._

* * *

"So Sirius is probably plotting something," Peter said quietly. "Remus is off with Danger on the grounds, James and Lily have Head duties, Harry's grading papers . . ." 

Midnight let out a soft _meow_ of agreement.

Peter smiled to himself. _Sometimes, I swear, that cat understands me better than anyone. I love the Pack, they're great friends, but everyone needs a little time to himself. And this is how I get mine, staying in bed late on Saturdays and talking to Midnight._ With the care Peter gave it, her paw had healed on its own before school had started again, and the quickly growing cat became a regular prowler of Gryffindor Tower.

He laughed, remembering one particular incident that had led to. _Having a form that's prey for your familiar isn't the best situation!_ He had been trying to get to bed inconspicuously after a wonderfully executed prank on Sirius, using his Animagus form, when he suddenly found himself hoisted tail-first about an inch above the ground. Sure enough, Midnight was carrying him daintily up to the dormitory. It was only a quick retransformation that had saved Peter from an untimely feline-assisted demise.

_I spooked her pretty badly, though. I don't think she's gone near any other rats since then. Or many people, for that matter._

His thoughts abruptly switched gears. _Someone else who hasn't been going near many people lately. Rachel. What's _up _with her? She's hardly talked to any of us for the last few days, and I swear she's making a special effort not to be in the same room as me . . ._

_Nothing I can do about it._ He shrugged. _As the Marauders always say, girls are weird sometimes._

Peter frowned. He thought he had heard a small creaking noise just then, as if the door was opening, but it didn't sound like any of the seventh-year boys. Much too gentle.

He sat up. There, standing in the doorway, was—

"Rachel?" He winced at the tone he had inadvertently put into the name. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like that, it's just that I haven't seen you much lately. What's wrong?" For she was alternately clasping and unclasping her hands, a nervous gesture if Peter had ever seen one, and Rachel usually didn't appear like that unless things were really bad.

She reached behind her, shut the door gently, and turned to face him with a lost expression.

The seconds ticked by. _I don't know what she's so afraid of telling me, but I can't understand what would elicit this sort of reaction . . ._

"Peter, I'm pregnant," she blurted out.

He blinked. His mouth dropped open of its own accord. The message seemed to take several seconds of absolute silence to reach his brain.

_No. I cannot have heard that properly._

"You're _what_?"

"Pregnant," she repeated, her voice sounding terribly small to Peter's ears. "Going to have a baby. In about nine months."

The world was wavering in and out of focus, and Peter suddenly felt like his lungs weren't getting enough air. He took several deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm himself. "But— _how?_"

Rachel made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Considering your friends, you of all people should know that, Peter. Certain actions have consequences!"

"But I— it can't—"

Rachel gave an anguished sob and turned tail and fled the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

Peter fell back on his bed, thoughts awhirl and breathing heavily. _What in Merlin's name am I going to do now?_

He forced himself to consider it logically. Reacting had only made Rachel more upset, and he didn't have anyone else to turn to.

_So this is what that led to. I should've known,_ he thought bitterly. _Nothing in my life can ever go well for long. If only—_

He clamped down on that train of thought before it could lead anywhere. _No point wishing for this to go away, Peter. It won't. Accept it. Deal with it. Embrace it, even. Don't let it shatter your life._

Idly, he wondered where those thoughts had come from. _Two years ago, this would've driven me over the edge. I would've gone whimpering to the door. Or to You-Know-Who, maybe. But I've changed since then. Thanks to—_

_Thanks to who? The Pack, obviously. They've supported me, they haven't treated me as an outcast—all right, James and Sirius did for a little while there, but they apologized. Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, they knew me as a traitor and they _still _supported me. No, support. Present tense._

_But Rachel's the one who's really made me into who I am today._

The realization didn't entirely surprise him. He had never put it in those words before, but it seemed natural to think of it that way. They just _understood_ each other in a way that seemed impossible with anyone else. Perhaps it was the shared sympathy of knowing what it was like to be the underdog, the one no one really wants to hang out with. Or maybe it was the way they seemed to complement each other, each making the other feel, if not normal, at least accepted and wanted . . .

Their relationship had progressed with the speed one would expect from such a connection, tempered only somewhat by mutual shyness. _It's not as if my parents ever sat me down and gave me "The Talk" or whatever you call it._ Peter allowed himself one self-deprecating snort. _Far from it. It was just one of those things that Was Not Talked About at home. And the banter between my dormmates, especially with Sirius in the mix, could hardly be trusted to be accurate._

_So I didn't even think twice when things got that far. Neither of us did. We just—did it, and it was great._

_But now look at the outcome._

Peter sighed heavily, feeling as though there was a great weight pressing into him, trapping him. _There's no way I'm ready to be a parent. No way Rachel is either. Look at us, we're just two of the most downtrodden kids in the school, why won't this just _go away—

_It won't. Accept it. Deal with it. Embrace it, even. Don't let it shatter your life._

Peter cracked a smile at that. _Look at me. I'm even thinking in circles now._

_But it's right. Whatever Rachel-strengthened part of my mind those words are coming from, I should listen to them. This is _not _the end of the world. Feels like it, but it's not. Life goes on._

He would find Rachel, then, and apologize to her. He knew he had probably seemed like he wasn't going to support her at first, but he had just been so _shocked_, he hadn't known what to do. There would be no way they could handle this if they didn't have each other to lean on, and it would be beyond cruel of him to abandon Rachel at this point—much as the idea momentarily appealed to him of just running away from it all, he knew he never could, never would.

_All right. Time to find a certain brown-haired Ravenclaw and work things out. As long as we both stay strong, it'll be all right._

He hoped.

* * *

At breakfast Monday morning, Harry surveyed the Gryffindor table and frowned. The Pack looked smaller somehow, it seemed . . . 

_Ah-ha._ **Ginny, have you seen Rachel at all this weekend?**

Ginny looked up at him. **No, I haven't. I think she and Peter might've had an argument; he was walking around looking pretty upset for a while. Maybe she's back over at the Ravenclaw table?**

At the beginning of the year, Rachel had decided to take a seat with the Gryffindors. A few members of the House of the Lion protested, but James effectively quieted them with a statement about how "in the dark times we're facing, inter-House unity should be applauded, not scorned." Evidently, people listened to the Head Boy.

_Or maybe it's just James Potter they listen to . . . he _did _get quite popular these past few years, after all._

Harry looked up and down the Ravenclaw table, too, but there was still no sign of his missing Packmate.

**She's not there, either.**

Ginny turned and said something to Peter, who cringed. "I'm worried about her," Harry heard through their link. "She's been really distant around me lately, and then I didn't see her at all . . . she's not anywhere in the Hall?"

**All right. Pack meeting in the Den after breakfast. We need to get to the bottom of this.**

There was a pause. **Harry, Peter says the Den won't respond to him. Hasn't since Saturday.**

**My office, then.**

**Got it.**

* * *

Rachel sat in the main room of the Den, surprisingly calm for one so upset. Her anguish of two days past had faded with its cause out of sight, and she was quite good at fending for herself. _With the number of friends I used to have, I had to be._

_Fending for myself. Is that where this is going? Is this how things are going to be forever?_

A stream of people dropped into the room.

_Oh, damn it, I couldn't block off Harry's office . . ._

She turned around. There, sure enough, was the rest of the Pack.

* * *

Harry landed softly on the floor of the Den. He took the few seconds before the rest of the Pack would arrive to glance around; if the Gryffindor entrance wasn't working, someone had probably sealed it, and that someone might still be there . . . 

Rachel was sitting in a large armchair, seemingly content, her back to them. Harry took a deep breath and found nothing on the air but faint traces of an emotion he couldn't identify.

The rest of the Pack came out one by one, standing behind him and to his sides. Rachel turned around suddenly; Harry looked at her.

"Rachel," he said levelly. "Where have you been all weekend?"

She closed her eyes. "Hiding."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "And why were you hiding? We were getting worried about you. Did you and Peter have a disagreement or something?"

"Just leave me alone!" Rachel snapped. "I didn't ask for this, all right? Just go!"

"No." Harry's voice was firm. He took a few steps forward until he was standing barely a foot away from Rachel. Rachel opened her eyes briefly, saw him, and suddenly tried to turn away, turn away, but Harry caught her shoulder and looked her squarely in the eyes. "I will not just leave you alone. I can tell something happened here, and whatever it is, we need to address it. It'll tear us apart otherwise."

"It's none of your business!" she yelled, jerking her shoulder away from him. "Just mine and Peter's, or maybe just mine, seeing as how he hasn't seen fit to show me any support—"

There was a sharp intake of breath behind Harry, but he didn't pay it any mind. _She's right; what am I doing here? It _isn't _my business, I'm just being a jerk—_

"Actually, I don't think so," said a welcome voice—Ginny had walked up to stand next to him without Harry's noticing. "It became our business when it got bad enough for you to hide out here for _two whole days_. Rachel, any group needs leaders to solve the major issues that crop up. This is one of them. You know as well as I do how much Harry _hates_ giving orders or bossing people around. Do you think he would ask you if it didn't really matter?"

Harry hid a smile. **Trust you to back me up when I falter.**

**It needed doing. Something's really seriously wrong here, and we need to figure out what it is.**

Rachel's expression turned inscrutable, but she remained silent.

"Rachel," Harry said, losing patience quickly, "_please_ tell us what's wrong."

"I don't want to—"

"_Now._" Harry's voice rang with authority. **Where did that come from?** he asked Ginny in surprise.

**You're the alpha male of this pack, and it shows.**

Rachel whispered something inaudible.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'M PREGNANT!" she yelled. "There, are you happy now?" She broke down crying.

Harry sat down quickly. _I never thought . . ._ The Den created a chair for him just before he hit it.

_Merlin, and Peter's not supporting her? Do I need to confront him too?_ But that wouldn't be necessary; Harry's seating himself had given Peter a clear line of sight to Rachel, and because of the distress she was showing, he was at her side in an instant, holding her and offering silent support.

The room lay in absolute silence, with the exception of a few sniffles from Rachel. She and Peter spoke quietly, but everyone could hear what they said.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. It was just such a shock, and by the time I had my head together to go look for you I couldn't _find_ you, and I'm so sorry for making you think I wouldn't support you, you must think I'm a terrible person now—"

"It's fine," Rachel whispered. "I understand now. I suppose I was being a bit of an idiot too, running off before you even could digest what I'd said." She looked up at him. "But you'll stand by me now?"

"For better or for worse," Peter affirmed. "I'm with you."

Something clicked in Harry's mind. _After breakfast . . . fifteen minutes . . . oh, class._ He looked at his watch and cursed. "I've got to go. Seventh year Defense class . . . all of you are excused, just talk this through. Peter, Rachel, none of us hate you for this, remember that. It'll work itself out, somehow." He stood up, and with a "Thank you, Harry of Godric," he disappeared.

Sirius chuckled. "Well, I guess we know how he gets here from his office now!"

No one else thought it all that funny.

Lily walked forward and sat in front of the overburdened couple, taking Rachel's hand in her left and Peter's in her right. "Do the two of you need anything?" she asked softly. "Want me to help you with telling your parents, or anything like that? I can hardly imagine how hard this must be for you . . ."

Peter laughed, once, a welcome sound considering the mood. "Thanks, but my mum would probably cast me out of the family for it. I'm just not going to tell her—yet, at least. Maybe right before I come back to Hogwarts. That way, if she reacts like I think she will, she won't have time to disembowel me."

Sirius snickered. "I don't see what the big deal is, honest—ly—" He gulped, seeing twin death glares sent his way from Lily and Aletha.

"The _big deal_, Sirius Black," Lily said icily, "is that Peter and Rachel are going to have a _child_, just out of school, when neither of them anticipated it, plus the fact that they're likely to be stigmatized by some people for not being married when it happened. Would you like to have to go through any of that?"

Sirius shook his head hastily.

"Didn't think so. So if you can't be supportive of them, just go. You'll only make things worse otherwise."

Sirius sat down, made a Marauder sign—_I'll shut up now_—and did just that.

"Yeah, Wormtail, this sucks, but you'll get through it," said James. "You've got my support too, for whatever that's worth." Lily flashed him an approving smile, and he grinned back.

Danger stood up suddenly. All eyes in the room turned to her; she was unaccountably furious.

"Danger, what's wrong?" Aletha asked, frowning.

"I have only one thing to say to you," she said angrily, facing Peter and Rachel. "How could you be so _stupid_? The both of you! Rachel, doing _that_, still in school, not even _thinking_ about the consequences—Wormtail, is this where you prove your form's so accurate? Only caring for—"

"_Silencio_," Ginny snarled. "How _dare_ you, Danger. Look what your words are doing! Look!" She motioned to Peter, whose complexion had gone deathly white, and Rachel, who wasn't doing much better. "If that's how you're going to treat the people who are practically your _family_—leave. Just leave. We don't want to see you around here." She lifted the Silencing Charm and turned her back.

"Fine! I will leave, then! Just go on pandering to the idiots!"

Ginny whirled around. "If you _want_ me to curse you with something stronger—"

Danger walked off in a huff.

Ginny sat down. "I'm sorry, Peter, Rachel," she said. "You shouldn't have had to be around that. Danger's just being ridiculous right now, no idea why."

"Agreed," Aletha said emphatically. "I must say, I was a bit appalled by the circumstances here, but that just went too far. It shouldn't matter what we think of it—you two deserve our support, not our fury."

Rachel smiled weakly. "Thanks."

Peter looked hesitant. "Do you really think I'm—" He broke off, unwilling to complete the sentence.

"That you're what?" Lily asked gently.

"Like Wormtail," he said quickly. "Like a rat. Only caring for myself—you know that's what Danger was trying to say—"

"_No,_" said at least four voices emphatically. "You've changed a ton, Peter," James continued, "and it was really cruel of Danger to say that. Who're you going to trust, though? Her or me?" He grinned.

"But I— well, when I found out, I just wanted to run away and hide from it at first," Peter said miserably. "Pretend nothing was wrong. I didn't want to take responsibility for it—I guess I just sort of wanted it to _go away_."

"And that's perfectly natural," Lily said. "It would be a shock to anyone, Peter. The important thing is that you _didn't_ actually try to do that. You did the hard thing by coming down here with us and apologizing. You did the _right_ thing, and don't let anyone convince you otherwise." Her voice took on a distinct overtone of anger, though not directed at anyone in the room. "This is hard enough without your friends turning on you."

"Thanks, then."

The room fell into silence.

Remus, who hadn't said anything since arriving, stood up. "I should go," he muttered. "I'm not going to be of any use anyway."

And before anyone could protest, he had left by way of the kitchens.

* * *

(A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone! (Writer's block sucks.) I could've drawn this out a bit to give you a really great cliffhanger, but I decided not to, so you can thank me for that. Peace; all will be explained in time. 

The baboon incident was inspired by a similar event involving Ron and Hermione in Abraxan's "The Time of Destiny".

Next chapter: "All Hell Breaks Loose," and it's almost as bad as it sounds. :-)

Can you read text backwards? Why not find out? ;-) !retpahc siht WEIVER esaelP)


	9. All Hell Breaks Loose

(A/N: Advance warning: Strong language and character death.)

* * *

**Chapter 9: All Hell Breaks Loose**.

Remus found Danger angrily stalking the grounds outside. He walked up to her, thinking to ask why she'd just insulted her friends—and his—so badly.

Danger whirled around when he was still around twenty feet away. "So now _you're_ coming to take me to task too?" she yelled.

Remus sighed and kept walking towards her. "No, Danger, I'm not trying to 'take you to task' for anything. I just want to know why you reacted so harshly. Peter was really devastated by what you said, you know."

"And why should I care about that? It's his own damn fault!" she shot back.

He stopped. "Danger—"

"Don't you 'Danger' me! He was completely irresponsible, he hurt them both! Rachel was hiding from him for _days_!"

Despite himself, Remus rolled his eyes. "You and I both know that's not really why you're upset about this. You _saw_ that they're fine now. You're the only one of us who got upset with him, and we _all_ care about each other. I'll grant that Peter wasn't acting terribly responsibly—"

"Like my parents?" Danger interrupted, her eyes blazing with suppressed fury.

"No, not like—wait, this happened to your parents too?" Remus shrugged. "I didn't know, and in any event, it doesn't really matter. I'd think that would make you _more_ sympathetic to Peter and Rachel, not lashing out at them. You embarrassed _me_, for Merlin's sake—"

"OH, IS THAT ALL YOU CARE ABOUT? _YOU_?"

"That's not what I mean! It's just— your behavior was completely out of line!"

"AND SINCE WHEN DO _YOU_ HAVE ANY SAY OVER MY BEHAVIOR? YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER!" She took a deep breath, and her voice quieted with an effort. "You know _nothing_ about why I reacted this way. _Nothing._ And I'll thank you to keep your guesses to yourself."

"I _know_ I don't know anything about it, Danger; that's why I'm asking! What is up with you, anyway?"

She glowered at him. "You want to know? Really want to know?" Her tone was dangerously quiet. "Well, maybe I'm just the tiniest bit jealous of Rachel. After all, she has by accident something I never will."

Remus's face fell, and his eyes closed briefly as if in pain. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said meekly. His gaze alighted upon a nearby familiar-looking rock. "Stealth mode. Thank you, Salazar. Goodbye."

He sped down the sloping slide back into the Den.

_So Danger's finally wised up to the fact that I'm a werewolf, and all that means . . ._

He landed, surprisingly, on his feet, in what looked like a broom closet. He opened the door and walked out onto the indoor pitch, looking intently at the grass-like stuff that coated the floor.

_I guess I really should've expected as much. This had to happen eventually._

"Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it."

Remus looked up. There, standing in front of him, were Sirius and Aletha, looking slightly windswept, brooms and Beater's bats in hand. Evidently, they had been practicing on the pitch. Sirius was the one who had spoken.

Despite himself, Remus smiled thinly. "How do you even know what I'm thinking, anyway? You're not—" He swallowed. _Merlin, I can't even say her name?_

"You have that look on your face, Moony," said Sirius. "The 'I'm a werewolf, so I should've expected something bad would happen to me' one."

Remus laughed. "You know me too well, Padfoot," he said, before sobering instantly. "And you're right. Danger just basically told me she's jealous of Rachel because of my, ah, condition."

Aletha scowled. "Excuse me? How on Earth do you get any connection between _those_ two? I can't believe her . . ."

"Well, werewolves are sterile," Remus said matter-of-factly. "And I think Danger's always sort of wanted to have a family of her own . . ."

"Still. Inexcusable. Where was she, again?" Aletha was really starting to get angry.

Remus held up a hand. "Aletha, please, you don't need to get involved in this. We'll resolve it. I can fight my own battles."

"Oh, I'm quite sure of that. No, I'm upset with Danger for my own reasons. But it's okay, you don't have to tell me—I can guess just fine." She walked into the broom closet. "Thank you, Salazar."

Remus looked at Sirius helplessly. Sirius shrugged. "When Letha gets angry about something, she _really_ gets angry about it," he said. "And if Danger blames you for that, she doesn't know her best friend as well as she should."

"Guess you're right." He sat down on the grass and let out a long breath. "Still, I don't know what to do about this. It's not as if it's something I can change, but it _is_ a big deal, and it _does_ matter."

"Not denying that, but honestly, you're _seventeen_. Neither of you should be worrying that far ahead. Who knows? Maybe in a year or five they'll find a way to make it possible for werewolves to have kids. It seems like Danger isn't thinking all that clearly at the moment."

Remus gave a short bark of laughter. "No, I don't think she is. And there's probably more to it than what she told me, but . . . hey, it'll work itself out. Always does."

Sirius grinned, transformed into Padfoot, and started running in large circles around the pitch.

Remus laughed outright. "Mr. Moony would like to inquire as to why Mr. Padfoot is acting so silly."

He transformed back to human, still lying on the grass. "Mr. Padfoot suggests that it's quite a lot of fun, and he adds that canine emotions are nice and simple. Play, hunt, eat, sleep. Loyalty to the pack. Mr. Padfoot believes spending time as Padfoot helps him remain sane."

"Mr. Moony wonders whether a Marauder is _ever_ entirely sane."

"Mr. Padfoot wishes to waive that question, on the grounds that the time spent formulating an appropriate response would be better spent aiding Mr. Moony with his Animagus transformation."

"Mr. Moony will permit such a waiver." He grinned wickedly. "But only because the reward outweighs the response."

* * *

Harry grinned mentally as he faced his class. _Who knew teaching would be so much fun? They're actually learning a lot, and I do seem to be pretty popular . . ._

_If it weren't for all the homework to grade, this would be perfect._

"All right," he said out loud. "You all know a lot, now, about how to act when you're fighting against a single opponent. Today we'll talk about being outnumbered."

He very clearly had the entire class's attention.

"So, you're in Diagon Alley, peacefully doing your shopping. Suddenly, a group of Death Eaters attacks and surrounds a group of people. You happen to be one of them. What's your first priority?"

"Escape?" suggested one of the Hufflepuffs, a bit timidly. (Everyone had long since learned that as long as they didn't all try to talk at once, Harry didn't really care whether they raised their hands.)

Harry smiled. "That's just fine. There is _no shame_—none—in running away from a battle. Trying to stay and fight only increases your chances of getting killed. And in the end, you're far better off alive than dead."

The class laughed.

"Yes, it sounds obvious, but it's absolute truth. You'd be amazed how many people forget that, especially among the Gryffindors . . . Remember it. _Your first priority is your own safety and the safety of your family._ Not capturing Death Eaters. There are a lot more dead heroes than live ones."

"But what if we can't Apparate?" asked a Slytherin named Yaxley. "I can't imagine the Dark Lord—"

"What have I said about calling him that?" Harry asked mildly.

"Fine, I can't imagine that _Tom_ wouldn't teach the Death Eaters to put up a simple Anti-Apparation ward."

"_That_ is when you fight," Harry said evenly. "And the Death Eaters are mildly competent at what they do, so during an attack, you probably _will_ have to fight—but if you don't, don't. Use what you learned in this class. Don't be in the path of curses you can't block. Don't get suffocated by the crowds—most people panic during an attack. Fight your way out of whatever they're using to keep you where they want you. Now, there are some spells that will help you with that immensely . . ."

He spent a good chunk of the rest of the class going over, among other things, Disillusionment and Illusion Charms, with general bits of advice sprinkled here and there.

"Let's turn this around, now. What do you do when you're fighting an invisible opponent?"

"Invisible in what way?" Lily asked.

Harry smiled. "Invisible in the way that curses are coming at you without you seeing where they're coming from."

"Well, I guess you could try and hit them with something . . ."

"That's the right idea," Harry said. "There doesn't exist an invisibility charm, spell, cloak, or potion that will also make things that hit it invisible. Invisible people aren't intangible; just throw some sort of liquid around and you'll see them. Water works fine—I think you've all learned _Aguamenti_ by now, just cast that in a circle. Then you can Summon the cloak, or _Finite_ the charm, or whatever. Now, any volunteers to try that?"

Remus raised his hand, so Harry cleared all the desks to the sides of the room, donned his Invisibility Cloak, put a Muffling Charm on his shoes, and started walking around. "Whenever you're ready," he said, using a charm to project his voice so it sounded as if it came frm the other side of the room.

"_Aguamenti!_" Remus shot at the source of the sound first, but he quickly whirled around and managed to hit Harry's cloak. Drops of water glistened in midair.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he cast.

Harry jumped to the side, dodging it, then started running in a zigzag fashion around the room. After some five minutes of Remus's attempts to hit him, Harry pulled off the cloak.

"That was quite good, but you had a much easier option. Just Summon the cloak—hell, you could probably even have Summoned me. Summoning charms are nonspecific, so you don't have to aim. And hitting a moving target is pretty hard.

"You do need to hit moving targets sometimes, though." He waved his wand, bringing a series of specially enchanted targets out of his office. "Last fifteen minutes of class, target practice. Have fun!"

Harry sat down to watch as the students started shooting sparks at the targets. He was rather proud of their design; Hermione had helped him with some of the trickier bits, but the idea was his. The targets recorded the accuracy and number of hits, and they could move in various ways, even specifically trying to avoid a wand. The class all knew how to deal with them by now, and Harry's reward of ten points to the House of the winner each week had done wonders for their aim.

"All right, time's up! Show scores!" He cast a critical eye over the mass of digits in the air.

"Over twenty." A few of the numbers disappeared. "Over fifty." Less than half were left. "Over a hundred." Only six—from the Pack, James, Sirius, Lily, and Ginny. "And the winner is—yet again—Sirius Black, with a hundred twelve hits in four minutes. Congratulations, and take ten points for Gryffindor. Dismissed."

"Nice job, Padfoot!" James said as the Marauders gathered their things and left. "You only need, what, a hundred in three minutes for Auror qualification?"

"Yeah. I'm not quite there yet. Although I'm pretty sure the Auror targets don't run between their attacker's legs to escape . . ." He glared at Harry.

"Hey, don't blame me; Hermione was the one who perfected the keep-away charms. Mine had the targets smashing into the ceiling sometimes."

"Oh, he knows," Remus said, grinning. "He's just still bitter about that time he tried to hit it there and missed."

"Hey, that _hurt_!" Sirius said defensively.

"As I said. And you've won, what, seven times now? So don't complain."

Harry looked at his watch. "Er, don't you guys have Transfiguration next? On the other side of the castle? Starting in two minutes?"

James cursed and dashed out the door, Sirius and Remus following not long after.

Harry walked back to his desk and started tidying papers. _Free period next, maybe I can get the first-years' essays done . . ._

He picked one up, took one look at the first sentence, and groaned. "_Defense Aganst the Dark Arts is impotent becus it makes you not get killed"? Honestly, I thought the firsties at least knew how to spell . . ._

_Ah. This is Robert Goyle's paper. I guess stupidity runs in their family._

He jumped as he saw a jet of white light out of the corner of his eye. It hit him in the temple, and he heard a familiar voice. "_Harry, this is Hermione. If you get this, my new charm seems to have worked. Could you Floo me at the Lair?_"

Harry couldn't help grinning. A communications charm like that would be immensely useful; Patronuses could only carry short messages, and they tended to be rather conspicuous besides. He walked through the door to his office, grabbed some Floo powder, and knelt before the fire. "The Lions' Lair!"

After a few seconds of dizzying spinning, Harry's head emerged in the Lair's living room.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Hermione said. "It worked, I take it?"

"Yeah, it worked great! Hermione, you really are brilliant, you know that?"

She grinned. "I might have heard it once or twice . . ."

"Anyway, how do you do the spell?"

"Oh, the incantation is _Nuntio_, with a bit of a wand twitch. You have to be concentrating pretty well on what you want to send; it takes some practice to avoid giving the recipient a whirlwind tour of your mental state. But it's relatively inconspicuous, and you aren't limited that much in message size, so I think it should be useful."

"Here, I'll get out of the Floo and try to send you one."

Harry pulled his head back, feeling the same strange spinning sensation, and in a few seconds he was back in his office.

_Chocolate Frogs._ "_Nuntio!_" The jet of white light shot out through the wall of his office.

Within ten seconds, he had a reply. "_You aren't concentrating hard enough. I think you were probably trying to tell me 'Chocolate Frogs', but it was mixed in with some stuff about the class I guess you just taught—invisibility Defense?—and something important that happened earlier today._"

_Well, let's try again._ He put some of his Occlumency exercises to work, concentrating on one thing to the exclusion of all else. He wasn't terribly good at it, but it seemed to suffice. _CHOCOLATE FROGS._ "_Nuntio!_"

"_That one was better. Chocolate Frogs, right? Try a longer message this time._"

_I'm going to teach this to the D.A. at our last meeting before break._ "_Nuntio!_"

"_Sounds great. I think you're getting the hang of it._"

_Oh, I would _love _to try to send one of these to Voldemort . . ._

* * *

Remus was surprised, as he did his Transfiguration homework that night, to hear a familiar (and welcome) voice in his mind.

**Remus?**

**Hello to you too,** he said sarcastically. **It's been a while.** (Danger had blocked their connection after her outburst, and Remus had stopped even checking it after an hour or so.)

**Look, Remus, I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I already apologized to Peter and Rachel . . . really, I had no right to treat anyone the way I did with that. Momentary mental lapse—forgive me?**

**Of course,** Remus said evenly. **It's not as if I don't have them too. And it's practically impossible for me to stay mad at you regardless. It's like being mad at a part of myself.**

**Yeah, I feel that too.**

**Look, about what you said—**

**Don't worry about it. It's ridiculous for me to be worrying about that so far in advance. Aletha gave me a good long list of Things That Might Happen, let me tell you. Delivered yelling, of course.**

**Sorry about that.** Remus's mental expression was the equivalent of a sheepish grin. **I tried to tell her not to get involved, but she wasn't having any of it . . .**

**Not a problem. I needed _someone_ to show me sense, after all.**

A few minutes' mental silence passed, as both Remus and Danger went back to their work. Suddenly, Remus remembered an owl he had received from his parents that morning.

**Oh, Danger—my parents invited you to stay at our house over Christmas. Would you like to?**

**Absolutely. Is anyone staying at Hogwarts?**

**Not from the Pack. Sirius is staying at his flat because he doesn't want the place to accumulate any more dust than Grimmauld Place—his words—Peter and Rachel are going to Potter Manor, and Aletha is staying at the Lair.**

**And we have Harry and Ginny's wedding on Christmas.**

**Yeah. Should be a great break . . . maybe we'll even have a chance to forget about the war a bit . . .**

* * *

Severus Snape shivered as he stood before the Dark Lord. All the Death Eaters had been summoned now, before dawn on Christmas Day, and the summons had had a distinct feel of urgency to it . . .

The room was cast in darkness and absolute silence. Lord Voldemort rather enjoyed unnerving his followers.

After about five minutes, the Dark Lord suddenly appeared, sitting in a throne that emitted greenish light. He steepled his fingers together and smiled wickedly.

"My loyal Death Eaters," he said in his high-pitched, cold voice. "I welcome you again to this most prestigious gathering, united as ever under the Dark Mark." They were the same words the Dark Lord used at every meeting, and the appropriate responses had been firmly ingrained into all his servants. "What do we stand for?"

"Purity and rule by death!" everyone shouted.

Snape winced as he heard one of the Death Eaters respond a fraction of a second after everyone else.

"Matthis Crabbe, you are summoned!" Voldemort snapped. Crabbe stepped forward and knelt. "Why, Crabbe, do you so distance yourself from my principles?"

"I-I d-don't, m-my Lord."

"You don't, you say." There was a long pause, during which Crabbe shivered uncontrollably. "Then you must be an imbecile, to fail at expressing such a simple sentiment when you agree with it. Lord Voldemort does not enjoy being followed by imbeciles." Another pause. Voldemort swiftly drew his wand and shouted, "_Crucio!_"

The Death Eaters watched in silence as Crabbe writhed and screamed under the curse. Snape, trying not to watch the torture victim, noticed that Voldemort's wand had a long, jagged raised line on it, looking almost like an old scar would on a person's flesh, that he had not seen before. _I wonder what happened to cause that . . ._

Finally, after about fifteen seconds that seemed to last much longer, Voldemort lifted it. "Let that serve as a lesson to you, Crabbe. Return to your comrades."

Crabbe stood and quickly shuffled back to his place in the circle. Voldemort waited about a minute before calling out his next summons. The pause, Snape knew by now, was meant to disconcert more than anything. The Dark Lord always tried to keep his followers on edge.

Finally: "Severus Snape, you are summoned!"

Clamping down on his shock and reinforcing his Occlumency, Snape stepped forward and knelt in front of Voldemort's throne. _He's always very careful about whom he reveals in front of the rest of us—always either Death Eaters who have displeased him or those he is willing to protect. After all, the Ministry loves to hear names._

_And I'm sure different people get called to different "full" meetings . . ._

"Snape, as my spy at Hogwarts, surely you have something to report?"

Snape cursed mentally; he had entirely forgotten to request the expected audience with Voldemort just after the beginning of Christmas break. _Maybe I can make up for it now . . ._ He searched his mind for tidbits of information he had especially flagged for situations like this, and found them aplenty.

"My lord, the Black blood traitor has found himself a new dwelling place. I overheard him discussing it leaving the Great Hall; he lives at number 132(b), Diagon Alley."

He paused. Voldemort said nothing, which Snape knew was his signal to continue. He went through several of those short tidbits. When the Dark Lord remained unsatisfied, he realized he would have to move into chancier territory—reporting on the Order. _Dumbledore discussed this with me, but still . . ._

"Dumbledore's group currently believes you to be lying low, still frightened by that old fraud's prophecy. They remain fragmented and unprepared for your true power."

Snape internalized a smirk. _Completely false, but I have no reason to know otherwise._

He continued in this fashion for another few minutes; Voldemort still said nothing. Snape gulped; he could think of only one more thing to say . . .

"Remus Lupin no longer shows any signs of being a werewolf. He appears in perfect health even when the full moon is imminent, and the Hogsmeade Shrieking Shack has been untouched for months. The villagers are even beginning to comment on it."

Another pause. Snape racked his brain for anything else to say, but he could think of nothing Voldemort would appreciate. He could only hope that would be enough . . .

"Thank you, Snape," Voldemort said mockingly. Snape didn't dare look up at him, but from the tone of his voice, the Dark Lord was smiling. "I see you can be useful indeed when properly motivated. Such a pity you did not tell me this the moment it came to your attention . . . I suppose I shall just have to 'properly motivate' you some more."

Snape gulped.

"_Crucio!_"

He screamed. The pain was indescribable, unbearable; he could think of nothing so much as how much he wished it to _end_—

Finally, it did.

"Return to your comrades."

Snape stood and backed away from the Dark Lord, respectfully never turning his back. He focused on not seeming hurt; Voldemort seemed to expect his servants to recover instantly . . .

"We shall attack tonight," Voldemort said, his silky voice capturing their complete attention. "Tonight, my Death Eaters, we shall bring down those who so foolishly oppose me, and strike fear into the heart of Wizarding Britain!"

As Voldemort detailed his plans, Snape felt a carefully Occluded wave of guilt. _He was waiting to do this until he knew where all twelve of them lived . . . attack them all at once, so they can't help each other. And he is sure to force those of us whose absence would not be remarked upon to stay here until then . . ._

_I hate being a spy._

* * *

Danger woke up suddenly, taking a few seconds to frown at the unfamiliar surroundings before it clicked.

_Oh yeah. Christmas break started a few days ago, and I'm staying at the Lupins'. And tonight's a full moon._ She looked over at the rough paw around which her hand was wrapped, and from there to the lupine body it was attached to. Said body seemed to be emitting a rather strange growling noise . . .

_Oh, this is priceless. Moony snores._

She laughed softly at that. How many people could honestly say that their boyfriend's snores depended on the phase of the moon?

_Except that Remus isn't really my boyfriend. That term feels too shallow. We're not married—yet—but we are a hell of a lot closer to each other than most teenagers get . . ._

_What the hell; we already call ourselves a Pack. My mate._

A beam of moonlight came in through the window, giving brief illumination to the clock on the wall. _Three AM. No idea why I woke up at such an odd hour; usually I sleep just fine, especially on full moon nights . . ._

Danger's thoughts drifted as she tried to fall back asleep. The wedding earlier that day had been perfect, she thought; just what they needed in a time when the number of attacks seemed to increase every week. In consideration of Remus's condition, they had started the ceremonies in the morning rather than the afternoon, and everything had been wrapped up before moonrise.

_And Ron didn't goof up with the rings this time. Seems like married life is treating him well—Ron with responsibility! Imagine that!_ Danger didn't know him as well as the time-travelers did, of course, but Hermione's stories had given her quite a good overview. _She said something about him being their grounding pin at the Lair last summer. Ron wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so he asked._ She smiled. _At least Remus knows it's not called 'eckeltricity'._

_With everything going on, I can almost forget that a Muggle-born first-year lost both his parents last week, and there's an upper-year Slytherin who tried to attack _him _in the halls and won't be coming back to Hogwarts . . ._

_Almost._

Unbidden, half-remembered lines leapt into her mind. _When cheer is greatest, lowest yet will be . . ._

_That's now._

She cursed, jumped to her feet, and Apparated away with a loud _crack_.

The sound woke Remus up. **What's going on, Danger?**

**I think there's going to be a Death Eater attack tonight. Remember the prophecy? I've gone to warn everyone. You stay there.**

Danger reappeared in Lily's bedroom. At the end of July last summer, she had taken them there one by one just so they would know where it was in an emergency. _And I think this qualifies . . ._

Lily blinked sleepily as she heard the Apparation. She looked around for its cause. "Danger, what's going on?"

"Death Eater attack, I think." There was no hint of Danger's usual cheer. "I'm not sure, but it just hit me all of a sudden, and I'd rather be safe than sorry—"

She stopped as she heard a muffled voice from outside. "Come on, get those wards up!"\ it sounded like.

"Scratch that, I am sure. Lily, get your parents, use your Order portkey, and _go_. Good luck."

Danger saw Lily scrambling out of bed for the brief second it took her to apparate back to the Cottage. _I'd rather not be trapped when the wards go up, and I'm pretty sure the Manor has Apparation wards of its own . . . I can Floo the Lair, at least._ She reappeared in the living room, threw some Floo powder into the fireplace, and shouted, "The Lions' Lair!"

**Lily's safe—I hope. They were just starting to get the wards up when I got there.**

**This is real, then.**

**Hell yes it's real.**

As Danger had expected, all the Lair's inhabitants were denning in the living room. She had barely enough time to shout a half-coherent warning before a message of Remus's brought her head out of the fire faster than she thought possible.

**They're here.**

* * *

Even without enhanced senses, Remus doubted anyone could miss their door being knocked down in the middle of the night.

**And this is where being a werewolf comes in handy. _They_ don't know I'm tame, after all, or that I've promised myself I will never bite anyone.**

In response, Danger flicked her wand and produced a loud crashing noise from the general direction of the basement door. Moony charged out into the entryway where the Death Eaters were, growling and acting as menacing as instinct told him how, with Danger following just behind him.

"_Stupefy!_ _Incarcerous!_ _Protego!_ _Petrificus Totalus!_"

"_Protego!_ _Incendio!_ _Crucio!_ _Sectumsempra!_"

The battle was on. Danger fought her hardest, but she had only even been magical for a year and a half, and it showed. The Death Eaters were gradually driving her back, and Moony had had to jump in the way of several life-threatening curses for her. Werewolves' near-immunity to magical attacks made them formidable opponents.

"Come with us, little girl!" one of them leered. "This beast here could turn on you whenever he felt like it!"

Danger told him what, exactly, she thought of his opinions, what he could do with them, and where he should put them. Remus was rather surprised, having only heard that sort of language from Sirius before.

"You asked for it, then! _Spiculus Argentae!_" Several shiny, metallic, sharp objects flew towards Danger.

Moony leapt in their way.

"NO!" Danger shouted, recognizing the curse, but it was too late. The projectiles pierced Moony's side.

Numbly, she recalled what she had read on the subject. _The Silver Dart Curse was developed for the express purpose of killing those beasts known as werewolves . . ._

With a primal howl, she changed forms and charged.

* * *

The elder Lupins woke to scuffling noises, growls, and spellcasting from below.

Katherine shivered. "What _is_ that?" she asked her husband, John.

John had his eyes closed in silent denial. He opened them. "I really hope it's not a Death Eater attack, but I—think it is. Please, Katherine, no matter what you hear, _stay here_."

"Okay."

John left the room silently, leaving Katherine to her thoughts.

_Remus and Danger are down there, and it's a full moon night . . ._

_But what can I do? I'm not magic; I'd just be someone more to protect. Or someone who's going to get killed._

_Please, loves, stay safe . . ._

* * *

John crept down the stairs, trying not to alert the Death Eaters to his presence before he had to. He knew he wasn't terribly good at defensive spells, but he would do whatever he could to protect his family.

What he saw made him stop short. A wolf howled and charged at two Death Eaters, managing to bite one of their legs before spell fire forced it back. It began circling them, growling furiously, an angry gleam in its eyes.

_I guess that's as close as he can get and still be able to dodge._

_But wait—Remus would never bite anyone, not even like this. And that's not a werewolf._

_So Danger's an Animagus._

_Where's Remus?_

John looked around the dark room, and his heart felt like it plummeted fifty feet when he found him. Remus was lying near a corner in wolf form, silver darts embedded in his side.

"FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARDS!" he screamed, and ran the rest of the way down the stairs.

He didn't even bother using his wand. He leapt at one of the Death Eaters, striking him with hands and feet, thinking only of how those _bastards_ had killed his son, and were probably going to go on killing the rest of his family . . . there were sounds coming from somewhere, but they didn't seem to be resolving into words . . .

His eyes widened as the room seemed to take on an eerie green tinge. _What _is_ that?_

Then nothing.

* * *

(A/N: Hate me, rage at me, do whatever you like. Really, though, you don't have enough information yet to do either.)

_«I wonder if these work?»_

_‹How about these?›_


	10. Comes the Night

(A/N: Warnings: Sharp language, strong emotion, and general nastiness ahead.)

* * *

**Chapter 10: Comes the Night**.

Danger, in wolf form, started as another figure entered her vision.

_What the—? Reinforcements?_

_No, wait, that's John . . ._

With an effort, she stopped her frenzied, angry attempts to attack the Death Eaters. _I hate them. I hate them so much for what they did. But I don't want to hurt John._

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. _Maybe I can change and Stun them . . . they must be distracted . . ._

Danger stopped, stock still, sniffing the air. _I recognize that smell,_ she realized suddenly.

_Not from tonight._

_But no—it _is _from tonight, but not the attack—_

The wolf's hackles raised as memories rushed back. _That dream—I wondered why I woke up so suddenly, it was because I had seen the attack on my parents—I didn't remember until now—and _they _were the ones there—_they _both attacked, both killed that night—_

"_Avada Kedavra!_" shouted the uninjured Death Eater—_him_—

The jet of green light raced forward, straight towards John Lupin—

_And that makes three people I love that he's killed—_

The thought, combined with everything else, was too much for Danger to bear. She howled and leapt up at the man—

And clamped her jaws around his neck.

It all seemed to happen at once. The light hit John and he slumped to the ground, terribly motionless. His killer stumbled and fell, clutching at the gaping, profusely bleeding wound on the side of his neck. Danger collapsed and lost control of her form from sheer emotional overload, her body wracked with sobs. The other Death Eater took one look at the situation and Apparated away.

_God, I can't deal with this right now. Too much. John's dead, Remus is dead—_ she shuddered at the thought, not even a remote possibility just half an hour ago but now so terrifyingly real—

She was trying not to dwell overly on the fact that she'd just killed someone. She thought she might explode if she had any more trauma to withstand.

_And I know I need to go somewhere, try to meet the rest of the Pack, but I just can't leave this place—_

_I think I'll just stay . . . right . . . here . . ._

She fell into disturbed sleep. Not even the sudden chill of her pendants, some few minutes later, could wake her.

* * *

Danger had only spent a grand total of four seconds in the Floo fireplace at the Lions' Lair. Her words, to an uninformed observer, could barely be discerned past something resembling "attack."

For Harry, though, who had been half-expecting, half-dreading that something like this would happen, it was enough. He was up and running before most of the others had even noticed anything amiss.

"Harry, wha—"

"Death Eater attack, Ron," he said grimly. "I'd rather fight them out there than in here."

Those words pierced the veil of comfortable fatigue worn by his friends, and soon five figures stood, wands in hand, defiant against the darkness.

No one was there yet. Occasional footsteps shuffled against the grass, and a bright full moon shone above; other than that, all was quiet, all was calm.

A gust of wind blew, and an unpleasant, Dark smell reached Harry's nostrils.

_Deceptively calm._

Harry took advantage of their inaction to link up via pendant chain with the four Packmates by his side. **This is what I was afraid of,** he told them. **Voldemort loves holidays, and he hasn't been nearly as active as I've been expecting. There's someone coming. Or someones. I can smell them. So wait, and be ready . . .**

Wordless affirmation echoed along the link.

They wouldn't have long to wait.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy suppressed a wince at the way the squeezing feeling of Apparation affected the bite on his thigh. Malfoys simply did not wince; it was undignified. And any pain he had to bear for the attack, he would, for the Dark Lord's sake.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.

_At least it wasn't the werewolf that bit me. This will go away with nothing more than a scar, instead of leaving me a ravening, bloodthirsty monster every month._

_I think death would be preferable to _that

His destination had been well-chosen; he was looking in on the window of an apartment on Diagon Alley. Number 132(b), Diagon Alley, to be precise. By the still-lit lights inside and a window facing the alley, he could see its sole occupant asleep on a sofa inside.

And Lucius certainly recognized said occupant.

_The blood traitor of my wife's family, one of the purest in Britain . . . this should be even better than usual._

With a practiced flick of his wand, the blond Death Eater Vanished the window blocking him from Sirius Black, pointed his wand at the sleeping teenager, and began the complex incantation for one of the Dark Lord's special inventions.

_An Apparation disrupter, one that requires considerable time to cast—not to mention considerable skill. I am probably one of less than a dozen wizards in Britain with the power to perform it, and perhaps the only one of those with the knowledge . . ._

Some minutes later, the spell was finally complete. Lucius Apparated into Black's apartment and sent an _Ennervate_ his way. The blood traitor sat up, startled, and took barely a second to take in his surroundings before Apparating away.

_Right into my hands . . ._

* * *

Suddenly, glowing blue lines rose crackling around the Lair, then vanished. Only Harry recognized them for what they were.

**Damn it, they set the wards while invisible. I should've guessed! Damn it!**

**Anti-Apparation?** asked Ginny.

**Possibly with other things. I guess this is their attack technique.**

**Well, we know what we do then,** said Ron.

**We fight.**

Struck by a sudden whiff of something from his left, Harry spun around and cast a spell. "_Diffindo!_" The Cutting Curse hit its mark; a Death Eater screamed and fell over.

But the scent of Dark magic was still thick in the air . . .

As one, the Death Eaters lifted their invisibility spells and stood, ten strong, in a semi-circle around the Lair and its five defenders.

"Bloody hell," muttered Ron. "_Ten_ of them?"

"Shields!" yelled Harry.

"_Protego Maxima!_"

The Enhanced Shield Charm was a N.E.W.T.-level defensive spell that Harry had learned and taught to the more powerful students in the D.A. It created a shield that could protect against moderately strong attacks by sapping the caster's energy to strengthen the block, and could merge with adjacent shields to protect a larger area.

And it was about to be tested.

Barely half a second after the shields went up, all the Death Eaters shot curses in a simultaneous move that had clearly been prepared beforehand. Beams of red, yellow, and blue raced towards them—Harry didn't see any Killing Curse green, but that hardly meant anything when so many other curses were equally devastating . . .

The curses converged on their collective shields.

Harry had come to realize, over the course of his studies of Defense the past year and a half, that his will and his heart were unusually strong. Not many people could have thrown off Voldemort's Imperius curse. Not many, as Ginny had reminded him, saw their spells get _stronger_ when protecting someone else. And it was exactly these reserves that _Protego Maxima_ drew from.

Even so, Harry's shield fell like it was tissue paper.

He realized this just in time, leapt back, and fell flat on the grass, one of the curses narrowly missing the tip of his nose as it diverged. Another had shot through the hole in the shields and cut Ron in the calf, but it didn't seem to have any other effects.

The shields quickly came back together, and Harry had the chance to scramble to his feet in relative safety.

"All right, Plan D!" shouted Ron, as he cast a nonverbal spell around all of them.

Harry dropped his shield with the others. Each of the five Pack members ran to a point in the middle of the semicircle, dodging or shielding against the now haphazard curses they encountered. Each of them picked out one or two Death Eaters and sent a nonverbal spell their way; the spell, one of Hermione's inventions, caused a colored pattern visible only to the Pack to shine on the Death Eaters' black robes. Each of them would try to take on the enemies he or she had marked.

"Go!"

They went.

Harry was fighting two Death Eaters near the apex of the circle. Spells were exchanged in a volley that left Harry on his toes, but not outmatched. One of the Death Eaters seemed to be tripping over the other somewhat.

The blocking and dodging continued until a Stunning Spell pierced the shield of one of his opponents. The one fell, and the other ran to the side.

Harry ran after him, dodging the occasional curse. He was too far away to get in a good hit while running, but his opponent didn't have far to go before he left the wards—and if he did that, Harry knew, they would weaken considerably.

He wasn't surprised when the Death Eater stopped and spun around before he reached the perimeter.

"Going to fight me, little baby?" the masked figure taunted. "Think you can win with schoolboy jinxes?"

And Harry recognized the voice. Her voice.

"_Bellatrix_," he hissed. No matter that Sirius was alive, now; his hatred of her still ran deep.

_Calm down, Harry. Getting angry never helps you fight._ He decided to settle for a pithy comment.

"I would say it's nice to see you, but I'd have to add 'crack your head open' to that sentence."

"Ooh, ickle baby's already scared!" Her voice dropped the mocking tones. "Think you can win against me, Potter?" She flicked her wand and fired off an ugly purple curse. "Think again!"

Harry recognized it, jumping to the side to avoid it and countering with one of his own. _Is that curse part of Death Eater Boot Camp or something?_

"_Imperio!_"

"That won't work, Lestrange! _Incarcerous!_"

"Ha! _Crucio!_"

Dodge. "_Stupefy!_"

The fight wore on. Harry had to grudgingly admit Bellatrix's skill, at least internally; he was quickly tiring in the face of her onslaught, and the energy hit he had taken from the shield earlier wasn't helping any.

He was backed against a wall—the side wall of the Lair, in fact. Bellatrix fired a spell he didn't recognize, but it had an ugly brown color and diverged into a wide field of beams—

_I'm dead._

Panicked, Harry did the first thing that presented itself to his brain. He tried to Apparate to the other side of the house.

To his eternal suprise, it worked.

* * *

Sirius stared uncomprehendingly at the blank wall in front of him.

_I apparated to Hogsmeade. The only stone walls for a mile around here belong to Hogwarts castle, and that's surrounded by some of the toughest wards in Britain._

He looked to his left. Another wall. His right. Another.

He turned around. There was someone looking his way, naggingly familiar despite the hooded cloak he wore.

The figure removed its hood.

"So nice to see you, brother."

_Damn you, Regulus._

* * *

The night sky around Potter Manor flashed with glowing blue for an instant before silence fell.

"Well, looks like they're gone," said Charles. "Everyone OK?" He looked around at the three people standing nearby, surveying them with a quick glance.

_We're fine._ James didn't trust himself to speak. _Some cuts and bruises, far too many close calls, but no one permanently hurt._

_But bloody _hell

He tried to think of something to say, just to get his voice in gear, but nothing came to mind. The silence bore on.

"Let's go inside," Charles said after a minute. "No use standing out here freezing to death."

The four of them—James, Sirius, Peter, and Rachel—followed Charles Potter back into the house and took seats around the living room fire. For a minute, nothing could be heard except the gentle crackling of the fireplace.

"That was—really different from what I expected," James said finally.

Charles sighed. "I figured as much. You had to find out sometime, I guess. We _are_ at war."

"Find out what?"

"This." Charles gestured expansively with one hand. "All of it. The fighting. It's not pretty, it's not romantic, it's stark and harsh and real and I always hoped your generation would have it better than mine did." He took a breath. "You won't, though. I guess it's one of those things that just won't go away. There are always people who don't mind using any means to achieve some very sick-minded goals."

James nodded silently, and saw the others doing likewise. That said it all.

_I guess, when you come right down to it, I always thought it would be—like Dad said, heroic, romantic, whatever you want to call it. We all did, I think. Go in, dodge their spells, shoot yours, capture the bad guys and bring them in._

_But that's not it at all._

"I guess Harry knows what it's like," Peter said softly. "Maybe we should talk to him."

"Hm?"

"Well . . . he's lived through this, I guess. Maybe not on as big a scale as us, but he's lived through it. He's fought them, he's seen people _die_—"

They thought for a while about that.

"And he still keeps fighting," James said. "He knows, if we stand by and don't do anything, they win. I mean, we all knew that, it's why we went out there in the first place instead of barricading ourselves inside and hoping they just went away. But _damn_— it's a lot harder than I thought."

"It is," Charles said with a grim expression. "You get numb after a while, really. You see enough hatred, enough violence, after a while you just stop feeling it because you _can't_ hold the abhorrence for all that at once. If you did, you'd go crazy, depressed or both.

"So you find a productive outlet for all that emotion. You want to _end this already_—do _something_ to fight it, at least, so it doesn't go on any longer than it has to. That's why I became an Auror, actually. Fought in the war with Grindelwald right out of Hogwarts, thought I could be a hero, make a difference, like you three—all I got was a first-hand view of the darker side of humanity." He fell silent for a bit, lost in memories.

"You'll live," he said finally. "Be thankful for that. You'll learn, too. Plenty of people don't get the chance. And I hate to say it, but it's true—what doesn't kill you really does make you stronger."

He looked around at the three of them, looking each one in the eye, trying to express the harsh sympathy he felt. "Parents always want to protect their children from this stuff. I was _this_ close to blocking you all from exiting the house. But at some point . . ." He trailed off, unable to express whatever it was he had wanted to say.

"You were great. Thank you, all of you, for being so brave and getting out there and just _doing it_. It made all the difference in the world. But I'm so sorry you had to."

Charles stood up. "Dumbledore's probably going to call an Order meeting soon. I'll leave you be; I'm pretty sure you'll want some time to yourselves for a bit. If you need me, you know where to find me." He turned and left the room. Soft footsteps echoed as he walked up the stairs.

James collapsed in his chair with a weary sigh. Peter looked shaken; Rachel was grim.

"Were either of you expecting that?" he asked.

"Definitely not." Peter shook his head. "We learned all the stuff in the D.A., and that helped, that let us survive, but I don't think anything prepares you for the Killing Curse whizzing over your head. It's, 'God, that could've been me.' And I just wanted to freeze there, except for the other voice telling me, it _will_ be me if I don't keep moving. It's just— I hate this. I really do. I _know_ it's wrong what they do, and I hate that they try to make things hell for the good people."

"Rachel?"

"Almost," she said sadly. The other two turned to look at her with raised eyebrows. "It's the same state of mind people have, whether they're bullying first-years or attacking people's homes. They like the feeling of having power over others. The Death Eaters just take that to extremes, with basically no moral standards to check it."

"That makes sense, Rachel," Peter said from his chair next to her. "I guess I never really thought about it that way . . ."

He suddenly seemed to think of something, and whipped his head around to look at her, worried. "Merlin, why were you fighting out there? You're—"

Rachel's eyebrows rose. "Perfectly capable of defending myself," she said, cutting him off. "It's not like I'm an invalid, I'm not even a month along, and I _am_ taking care of myself—so don't begrudge me the chance to do the right thing, all right?"

"Sorry," Peter mumbled.

"Oh, it's fine." Rachel smiled at him. "To be honest, I don't mind that much. I'd rather you protect me than ignore me, definitely!"

Peter smiled back, and a good deal of the tension in the air seemed to melt away.

_Good to see them back to their usual selves. We'll make it through this fine._

"Oh, Rachel—how do you reactivate the pendants?"

"Yeah, that'd be a good thing to do, wouldn't it." Rachel had been teaching them the deactivation spell, which she'd learned from Sophia Ravenclaw back in July, when the attack had come, and no one had had the presence of mind to ask the counterspell then.

She fished her pendants out, pointed her wand at them, clearly said, "_Coepto nuntius insignis_"—

—and gasped and dropped them, shivering. No one needed to ask why: on the first pendant, one of the carvings was glowing more brightly than James had ever seen them glow, easily visible despite the torches burning in the room . . .

The light went out. Everyone seemed to let out a breath.

"It's not cold anymore," Rachel said softly.

"What happened?" asked Peter.

"Well, we know they're supposed to get cold for mortal peril, and that's colder than I've ever felt it, and it just stopped all of a sudden—"

Peter shuddered.

"I really don't want to think about it right now. Whatever happened, we'll probably find out at the Order meeting."

James reactivated his pendants and found them quite hot; the carvings of the wolf and the dog were glowing on the Marauders' pendant. _Maybe they got attacked too . . . damn it, I wish we could help them, but we're in no state to help anyone and we have no idea where they are to boot . . ._

Peter, though, found a blast of cold similar to Rachel's.

"D'you think it might just be giving us all the signals at once from when it was off?" Peter asked hopefully. "Maybe there was some danger that's passed by now . . ."

"But if that's true, wouldn't mine have gone cold too?" James asked.

They all seemed to come to the same conclusion at once, independent of one another.

_The only people on our pendants that aren't on everyone's are our parents. And Peter's mum and Rachel's dad both lived alone . . . the Death Eaters might have thought they were at home for the holidays, sought them out like they tried to get us . . ._

"I never even got a chance to tell them," Rachel whispered.

Peter got up and walked over to engulf her in a hug. "I didn't either," he said, "and I'm so, so worried. But we don't _know_ it means what we're afraid of . . ."

James, feeling somewhat awkward, could only look down at his pendants and the still-glowing figures of wolf and dog, and hope everyone got out all right.

* * *

"Nice to see you too," Sirius replied sarcastically. "That's really the first thing I want to see when I'm captured, you know that? Positive proof that my brother's joined up with Voldemort."

"Don't say the Dark Lord's name," Regulus snapped. "And I only joined him because he's _right_. I mean—"

"You think this is _right_?!" Sirius yelled. "You think going around, torturing people, killing them—"

"Sometimes people need to be killed," Regulus interrupted darkly. "If they're only going to be ruining our attempts to make a better world for everyone—"

Sirius emitted something partway between a laugh and a sob. "You're kidding me. You have to be kidding me. 'Make a better world for everyone?' What are you, an idiot?"

"I—"

"No, wait, don't answer that. I don't care what you have to say." Sirius's voice was gaining in both volume and ferocity. "You joined _Voldemort_. The—"

"Don't say—"

"VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT, VOLDEMORT, VOLDEMORT! The worst Dark wizard in recent history! Killing people every week! Trying to eliminate every Muggle-born or half-blood witch and wizard in the world! How long till it extends to 'trying to eliminate everyone'? How long till he kills _you_? And don't you care that he's just _evil_?" He cut himself off, breathing heavily. Trying valiantly to control his tone, Sirius continued. "If you don't see that, you're not who I thought you were. You're not the Reggie I used to love, used to protect when Mum and Dad got crazy. And if that's who you are—"

Sirius sighed, slumping in place. "So be it. I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore. Just don't expect to get treated like family."

"Fine by me." Regulus shrugged.

They sat in silence for some minutes.

"What, why are you looking at me? I'm not going to go away; I'm on guard duty here. After last time, they learned their lesson when it comes to you guys." He laughed humorlessly. "Not that I even know why the Dark Lord would hate you so much, my _dear_ brother, but I suppose he has his reasons."

Another pause.

"He hates me," Sirius said to the floor, "because I did the _right thing_. Unlike you."

The floor disdained to reply. So did the other occupant of the room.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and looked around as the squeezing feeling of Apparation left him. He had surfaced on the other side of the Lair, right next to where Ginny was fighting.

**Why, hello there,** he sent exuberantly. **Could you use a hand?**

**Yes, I could. You?**

**Yes.**

**Let's go, then.**

Side by side, they advanced upon the Death Eaters. Fighting as one, with new enthusiasm and the help of the rest of the Pack, they were finally able to drive them back. One by one, the Death Eaters were forced to leave the wards, which flashed blue as each caster passed them.

Harry grinned. _And this is it . . ._ He drew his wand and pointed it in a flash towards the one Body-Bound Death Eater that was still within the wards he had helped to set.

"I've got a message for you," he shouted. "You can take it back to Voldemort. Here it is. You attacked us in the dead of night. There are ten of you and five of us. You're supposedly 'elite'."

He fired a nonverbal Banishing Charm.

"And WE WON!"

The Death Eater sailed through the wards.

The wards crashed down in a storm of blue sparks.

And when the light show ended, not a single Death Eater was left in the area.

"Blimey, mate," was Ron's awestruck opinion. "How'd you _do_ that?"

Harry grinned at him in response. "Wards that can be put up quickly like that always have a weakness. In this case, it's that when there's no one left inside that can pass through them, they collapse. And when they collapse, they tend to release some unpredictable magic associated with what they're keyed to . . ." He let the statement hang.

"What happened, then?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Oh, everyone with a Dark Mark got affected, I think. Sent in a random direction, probably, since they were anti-transport wards. Some of them might even have gotten splinched." His grin was positively wolfish now. "See why I love wards?"

"Yes," Aletha said, smiling in spite of herself. "Yes, yes, I think I do."

Five golden necklaces burned cold.

* * *

Regulus sat in stony silence, looking at nothing but the wall in front of him.

Especially not the person who sat not six feet to his left.

_I'm right. I know I'm right. The Ministry clearly can't hold itself together; the Dark Lord is winning more victories every week. Any fool can see he's the right one to follow. Not to mention, I actually seem to fit in here._

_But still. Sirius is my brother. I don't really care as little as I said before._

_I guess I just don't know what to think anymore . . ._

Heavy footsteps sounded the arrival of a trio of masked and cloaked Death Eaters. "Black," said the one in the front. "You manage to get him to talk yet?"

Regulus shook his head. "Not about anything more than how much he hates me and a whole bunch of righteous crap, no."

He wondered why the words sounded so hollow to his ears.

"Well, then, let's see if I can help you out. _Crucio!_"

Sirius screamed and writhed.

Regulus wrenched his head away from the sight, but he couldn't block out the sound. It seemed to go on and on, unbearably loud, echoing off the walls of the small cell, an agonized cry cutting to the very depths of his self—this was his _brother_ . . . He knew he could show no weakness in front of these other Death Eaters—his own death would be the sure result of that, and he rather preferred himself alive, all things considered . . . all he could do was sit stoically, hope they would stop soon, and hear the grisly dialogue that ensued when they did . . .

"Anything you want to tell us, you blood traitor?" the torturer mocked. "Or would you rather I do that again?"

"I'll never tell you anything," Sirius said hoarsely. "You hear that? Never!"

_Stupid idiot. Just tell them! There's no way Dumbledore's forces could punish you as severely for telling as these people are for keeping quiet! Stop being so heroically noble and save your own skin! Don't you see they're perfectly happy to kill you?_

Regulus would have loved to say some of that aloud, and he very nearly did—but again, self-preservation kept him quiet.

"Ah, Gryffindors, so stupidly, stupidly brave," said another one of the Death Eaters. "I suppose you do need some additional motivation. _Crucio!_"

This one seemed to last even longer. Regulus could hardly bear hearing it. _He's done nothing against you! Why is this necessary? Do you get some sick pleasure out of it?_

He hadn't expected he'd be so affected by all of this. Hell, he'd denied to himself for years that he even cared about his brother anymore.

_But really, I do . . ._

The curse was lifted. Sirius panted for a while, then spoke. "Go—to—hell," he rasped; his voice was little more than a whisper, and Regulus knew without daring to look that every word was excruciating for him. "Where—you—belong. Because—I—"

"_Ossis Fragmen!_"

The watcher shuddered involuntarily as the Bone-Shattering Curse hit his brother with a series of loud _cracks_s. He heard Sirius gasp, then cough. A small drop of red impacted the wall he was staring at.

The Death Eaters continued brutally on. "That enough for you? Ready to talk, now?"

Sirius remained silent.

"_Crucio!_" The third one had evidently joined the 'fun'.

_Because that's what they think this is, damn it. There's nothing "right" about it. It's about them lording their power over the helpless. That's all. It's _wrong

Sirius managed to get out one word in a whisper when it was over. "No."

A good deal of Regulus's exasperation, he found, had changed somewhere during this ordeal into shocked amazement.

_There's no way I could endure that, any of it . . . This is a hundred times worse than what the Dark Lord does to us . . ._

The Death Eater tapped his forehead in mock consideration. "Guess we'll give you some time, then. An hour, say. Maybe you'll be more cooperative. If you live that long."

They left the room, laughing uproariously. The wall slid shut behind them.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, Regulus turned to look at the results of their actions.

He barely stopped himself from throwing up. His once-proud brother was a mangled mess, deathly pale, bruised and contorted into a position that looked extremely painful. His eyes, amazingly still open, were dull and almost lifeless.

_They're right,_ Regulus realized with growing despair. _There's no way he's going to survive this. They went way, way too far._

_And I bet they're proud of it, the bastards._

And now Sirius's mouth was moving, trying to form words with a throat that wouldn't cooperate . . . but Regulus read the message on his lips, and the words there cut him to the quick . . .

_Is this what you stand for?_

He buried his head in his hands and cried.

* * *

Danger stirred as she felt something cold and wet on her face.

For a few seconds, she wondered why she had been sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, on a hard floor, and what on Earth that smell in the room was.

Then the cold, wet thing prodded her face again and the memories—and the grief, the rage, and the despair—came flooding back.

She opened her eyes mechanically. _Can't lie here all day, after all. Have to find someone who knows what's going on—Dumbledore, maybe, he's always good to go to when something crazy like this happens—_

Then she saw what had woken her.

_No, this is impossible, I must be dreaming, there's no way he could be—_

But standing next to her was a clearly identifiable werewolf, adorned with blue eyes and a worried expression that no ordinary werewolf could ever display.

_Alive._

She reached up and hugged him tightly, holding on as if her life depended on it—

_Which I think it just might—_

**I'm flattered, I think,** said a voice in Danger's mind.

"REMUS!" she shouted aloud. Words and tears flowed freely. "You're alive! I can't believe it, I was so upset, you jumped in front of that curse and I remembered what it did and I was sure you'd _died_ and oh, the Death Eaters were the same ones who'd killed my parents and one of them hit your dad and I just snapped, I think I killed one of them and I hardly realized it and—"

**Calm down, love,** he said soothingly. **Everything's all right, now. Everything will be all right.**

"But— but—"

**I already knew or guessed at most of what you said, and _it's all right_, you hear me? This was a crazy night for all of us, and I don't think my reaction to it has set in yet. But _we're okay_. We made it through all right.**

"Thank God for that." Danger laughed weakly, humorlessly, as her tone took on a sarcastic bent. "I only had to kill someone to get there. And he would've run anyway—I shouldn't've, I don't know what I was thinking, I—"

**I know. I'm not mad at you, and I don't think you should be mad at you either. It's _all right_, and I promise we'll talk about it as soon as we have a chance. But I think my mum must be upstairs, and I'm sure she's worried sick about us—do you think you'd be able to go get her and bring her down? I'm sorry to ask this, but I think she needs a human being right now . . .**

"Of course. I'll try." With an effort, she untangled herself from Moony's form, wiped her face on his fur, and stood up on shaking legs. She walked up the stairs one at a time.

"Katherine?" Danger called softly.

"I'm in the bedroom."

She walked with soft footsteps to the door and opened it noiselessly. Katherine Lupin was sitting up in her bed, staring fixedly out the window she was facing.

Danger sat down next to her without saying anything. For a minute, neither did Katherine.

Then: "What happened? Are John and Remus all right? I heard noises for a while, but I was afraid to go down, I knew I'd only get in the way . . ."

"Oh, Katherine, it's— well— Remus is fine. He got hit with some silver darts, really scared me and John, but I guess this taming thing we have guards against that—so he's fine. But—"

"You mentioned John? Is he OK too?"

Danger felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. "John— John is— _no_, Katherine, he's _not_ fine— a Death Eater killed him, he's _dead_." She paused, before going on quickly, best to get it all out at once— "And I sort of killed the Death Eater who did it."

"Oh my God. Oh—my—God." Katherine's breathing grew shaky. "He's— they killed him?"

"Yes," Danger whispered. "Yes, they did. And I'm so, so sorry . . ."

Katherine engulfed Danger in a tight hug. "I'm sorry too, Danger," she said. "I really am. I always hoped— God, this is just too much."

"You don't— blame me— do you?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" She squeezed even tighter for a second. "Of course not, Danger. I'm sorry you had to go through that, I just—"

Nothing more was said for some minutes; nothing more, Danger thought, needed to be. It wasn't long before Remus padded up and joined them, still in wolf form, curled up on the bed.

* * *

Regulus looked up. Severus Snape had just walked into the cell.

He frowned. _Why doesn't he have his mask on?_

"Do you truly expect the Dark Lord to forgo even the most basic of security measures?" Snape asked by way of greeting.

"What do you mean?"

"Scrying spells," the greasy-haired youth replied disdainfully. "He has placed them in every cell since the rebels' unfortunate escape last April. I saw every bit of what just happened in here."

Regulus internalized a few choice words. _There's no way he's going to let me live now. I _really_ proved weakness there. Death Eaters are sworn to police their own ranks, and Snape's completely devoted to this._

_So I'm going to die, for making something like the right choice._

_Damn it, Sirius, why did you have to be right?_

Snape took out his wand and twirled it idly in his fingers. "Any last words?"

_No point in discretion anymore, I guess . . ._ Mild panic drove him to more directness than usual. "Fuck you, Snivellus." He gestured to his brother, still a broken heap against the wall of the cell. "Is this what _you_ stand for?!"

The wand stopped mid-twirl. Snape stared into a corner for nearly a minute, his black eyes glittering contemplatively but betraying no hint of what they hid.

Finally, he sighed, turned to Regulus, and began swiftly waving his wand in an intricate pattern. "Talk to the firebird," he said, as he completed the spell in a burst of yellow light.

Regulus felt himself flying through black nothingness, while hardly seeming to move at all.

_I don't _think_ he killed me . . ._

When next he opened his eyes, he was standing at the gates of Hogwarts.

_Great. I have an out._

_Now what in the world did that cryptic message mean?_

* * *

The spy turned his back on the carnage and walked away. Nothing remained in that cell to concern him. He had risked his position to help one with whom he sympathized—that was bad enough, that was far more kind than he usually was. No reason to compound that by helping his sworn enemy, who he was sure would die now no matter what care he got. He'd seen enough of that condition around here to know.

But on second thought . . .

He stopped short just before passing the perimeter of the cell.

_Was_ that what he stood for?

He'd already taken the risk, if he was going to be honest with himself. Helping two people escape had the exact same punishment as helping one. And helping a traitorous Death Eater was, in some ways, even worse than helping an enemy.

Why should he _not_ take his unprecedented kindness to its logical conclusion?

_Because he tried to kill me,_ said an insistent mental voice. _Because, because of him, my life for the last seven years has been quite miserable._

_But didn't you do just as much to him?_ whispered another part of him, the part that had driven him to help Regulus in the first place. _You always gave as good as you got. You know that. And he hasn't attacked you at all for over a year now._

_If I leave him now, I'm basically saying I countenance everything that was done to him._

_It was all done on my watch, after all._

_And as much as I absolutely, utterly hate him . . ._

He spun around. _It's not as if I think he's honestly going to recover,_ he rationalized. _And if he does, now _he_ owes _me_ a life debt. I like that idea._

He fired the spell.

Sirius Black disappeared, headed in the same general direction as his brother.

* * *

They were all gathered in the Order's meeting room. Remus was still in wolf form.

Some of the non-combatant members of the Order had organized themselves to check at everyone's houses, get medical care where needed, and bring the healthy residents to the meeting. The time-travelers had actually been found by Mr. Weasley, which had been quite a welcome surprise. The mood here alternated between chaotic and subdued; it was evident there had been some kind of organized attack, but no one seemed to know who else had been affected, and a good number were dealing with their own reactions to the night . . .

"I believe I shall commence this meeting." Dumbledore sounded unusually grave. The low chatter in the room died out.

"This past night, as I'm sure most of you are aware, Lord Voldemort launched a cohesive set of attacks against various locations in magical Britain.

"I wish to truly thank those of you who aided in the defense, and I express my most profound sympathies for those who have endured losses of loved ones this night.

"Voldemort aimed direct, coordinated attacks at the Lions' Lair, Potter Manor, and the homes of the Lupins, Pettigrews, Evanses, Trents, and Sirius Black. I believe it was his goal to wipe out the twelve young people among us who call themselves the Pack; he has overheard certain information that leads him to believe them quite the threat to his continued existence.

"Thankfully, all twelve have survived the night. The attackers were driven back at Potter Manor, the Lions' Lair, and the Lupins' home. The Evanses were alerted to the attacks just before anti-Portkey wards were set up, and so they were able to evacuate and are safely here. Regretfully, though, John Lupin, Elaine Pettigrew, and Patrick Trent were killed, and Sirius Black's whereabouts are unknown. I fear he was captured from his apartment."

Peter fumbled with his pendant chain, throwing it over Rachel's neck.

**So they're gone, then. They never knew . . . we never got a chance to tell them . . . I'm so sorry, Rachel.**

Rachel had a thin smile on her face that seemed to be an attempt at covering inner hurt. **I know. I just— well, there's nothing we can do about it now. Only keep living our lives, and know . . . wherever they are, they're watching us, and I hope they're proud of us . . .**

**I know they are.**

"In addition to these attacks, a number of Muggle-born wizards and witches were attacked in their homes. Some repelled the attacks; most, though, have become casualties of Voldemort's reign."

And so it went on. Three Order members had been killed out of twenty that had responded to the attacks; none were well-known to the Pack. Most of them were still rather dazed by what had happened.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "At the moment, I know nothing more than what I have told you. Again, my deepest sympathies go out to those who have lost family or friends. I shall conclude this meeting now, for I am sure you all would like to rest. Should any of you seek my counsel, you know where I may be found."

At that moment, the Floo fireplace in the room (protected by the most stringent security wards) flared green. Madam Pomfrey's face appeared in the flames. "Professor Dumbledore, someone just appeared in the infirmary!"

"What do you mean by 'appeared'?"

"I mean, he literally just showed up in a bed that I swear was empty not twenty seconds ago! And I'm not sure, but I think—it's Sirius Black!"

* * *

Aletha was running out of the room almost before the word "Black" had left the mediwitch's lips. She skidded into the Headmaster's Office, said the password to the Den, and hoisted herself into and down the pipe that appeared.

She was entirely unprepared for her landing in the Den's bathroom. Specifically, she was unprepared for the fact that the bathtub filled with water to "soften" said landing.

And water was very, very wet.

Aletha allowed herself one wince at the delay and one laugh at its absurdity before clambering out of the tub (which seemed to have magically enlarged itself into something more like a pool) and casting a drying charm. She ran out the yellow door and directly across the central room into the library. "Thank you, Rowena." A section of the bookcase slid out. She stepped inside and jumped. Within a few seconds, she had reached the hospital wing.

Sirius was laying on the bed directly in front of her. Madam Pomfrey was waving over him frantically with her wand, trying to stabilize him.

Aletha hardly recognized him. No wonder the mediwitch hadn't been sure.

_My God . . ._

_I'd almost rather know he died peacefully, than see him like this . . . it's clear they tortured him, then sent him back to torment us, and God damn it, it's working . . ._

She looked up at her, hoping for any shred of good news but recognizing there probably was none . . .

The mediwitch shook her head sadly, pausing in her work. "I'm sorry, but I've done everything I can. He's . . . well, do you want to know? To be quite frank, it's rather horrified me—"

"Yes," Aletha said resolutely. "Tell me. Tell me everything."

"He's showing signs of multiple exposure to the Cruciatus Curse and most of his bones are broken in multiple places. The Cruciatus was applied after the bone breaking, as well, and his physical reaction to the curse has severely worsened his condition."

"What do you mean?"

"People under the Cruciatus don't stay in one place, dear," she said gently. "And people with broken bones tend to severely compound the damage if they move the affected area. I don't know how else to put it. He has internal damage—one of his broken ribs punctured his lung, and there's a lot more I haven't identified specifically yet." She sighed. "I hate to say it, but I really don't have the skill to treat him, and I'm not sure anyone does."

"Thank you anyway." Aletha moved over to his bedside, which Madam Pomfrey had vacated to allow her some privacy.

"God, Sirius, how could this happen?" she said in a barely audible voice. "You never get hurt. Not bad enough to show, anyway. I swear, you got clocked in the head with a Bludger once and you were back playing in a minute or two!" She laughed once, then stopped, suddenly somber.

"I guess no one's invincible . . .

"But damn it, Sirius, you're the strongest person I know! Even when you're being a prat, you're just—_you_. You broke off from your family—I don't care what they said, that took real strength. I've never, _never_, seen you back down from what you believe. And last year, after the fiasco with Snape and Remus—you didn't let it beat you down, you held on, you grew up . . .

"That's why I love you so much, you know. Yes, you're a prat sometimes—but so are we all. And you _never give up_ . . .

"And now I wish so much that I'd told you this before, while I still had the chance! Because that's what _really_ matters—all the stuff we'd argue about, Quidditch and Snape and the Marauders, who _cares_ about that? I'm not nearly as mad at you as you probably think, I forgive everything I ever yelled at you for, now just come back so you can hear it!"

She choked on her words. "Because—I just can't accept that you're broken, gone forever, you the boy who never backed down from anything—this isn't the way it should go, this _can't_ be how it goes!"

She had long since shedded the veil of tranquility that seemed to follow her wherever she went; she was leaving nothing to reason and everything to emotion; her mind was a whirlwind of desperate thoughts and images she couldn't even begin to piece together . . .

Aletha reached out and put her hand on Sirius's forehead, probably the one part of him that wasn't affected by the curse, and focused on him all her formidable will and determination. It built up, bubbled over, erupted into one fiery declaration:

"_I won't let you die!_"

* * *

Severus Snape opened his eyes and looked around.

_I have no reason to be at Hogwarts, and the Great Hall is never empty . . . why am I here, and where is 'here'?_

His gaze fell on a partially open door behind the staff table, and he was forced to revise one of those observations. There was, in fact, someone here, inside the room behind that door, an indistinct silhouette at this distance.

_But I am not sure I should approach him. This seems a dream, and it is certainly not mine, so whoever created this place certainly wields great power here. It may be an effort to entrap me—perhaps it is the work of the Dark Lord._

But in dreams, curiosity nearly always overcame rationality, and so it was with this one. While he had been weighing the advisability of walking forward, his feet had been moving without his realizing it, and Snape was past the teachers' dais by the time he decided not to proceed.

And the figure in the room had already noticed him, and was beckoning him in.

_Too late now._

He entered the room.

The man was robed in green, and looked somewhat like the new Potter, only older and without the glasses—and, Snape thought, much less irksome in resemblance. He was speaking.

"Severus Malachai Snape, son of Eileen, I bid you welcome."

Snape noted appreciatively that the man, whoever he was, identified him by relation to the parent he respected, and passed over the very existence of the parent he despised.

_I believe I like him already._

"The same to you, sir. You seem already to know my name and the reason I am here; may I in turn know the same of you?"

The man waved a hand, relaxing somewhat. "No need for those formalities, Severus—tradition demands it at the beginning, I guess, but after that, you can talk normally."

"Fine. My question still stands."

"Blunt as always, I see." The man smiled. "I believe you know me by association, but not by name. I'm not sure the name has survived to your time, unless the Pack told you."

"You know about them?" Snape asked in shock.

"Yes, of course, they're one of the few visitors we've had lately."

Details were beginning to come together in Snape's mind. "Am I here because of an oath that binds me?"

"You've got it." The man grinned. "I am Alexander Slytherin, Salazar's so-called 'good' son."

_An original heir of Slytherin?_ Snape's respect for the man had increased about a hundredfold.

"Why am I here, then, sir?" he asked almost diffidently.

"Hey, I told you, no 'sir'!" Alexander laughed. "You're here, as you guessed, because of the oath you swore with Dumbledore. It's quite a weighty oath, and we have to make sure those who would benefit from it truly merit their rewards."

"And you find that I do?" Snape asked.

"You wouldn't know I existed if you didn't."

Snape remained silent, and only nodded for Alexander to continue.

He did. "I must say, Severus, I wasn't exactly rooting for you from the start. I've seen some of the things you've done, not just in the universe you know but in the one Harry came from and others too, and, well, I didn't have too high an opinion of you as a person.

"But we don't believe anyone is irredeemable, and in the past several months, most especially with your actions tonight, we think you've basically redeemed yourself."

Snape frowned. "You've mentioned 'we' a few times now. Of whom do you speak—the other Founders?"

"In part," said Alexander. "Godric and Helga and Rowena are here, as well as Rowena's three daughters, Helga's son, and Godric's son and daughter. But Salazar and Matthias are not, because they broke the oath we swore. It's the same one you swore, and the penalties are just as bad as they sound."

"All right. Continue."

"There really isn't much more to say. Despite the fact that you and Sirius are basically sworn enemies, you helped him when he needed it, instead of being 'quick to dole out death and judgement', as Godric likes to warn people not to be. And, by the way, I can tell you that Sirius is going to recover fully."

Snape prevented his mouth from dropping open with no small degree of effort. "_How?_"

Alexander smiled enigmatically. "Ah, not my place to tell. I'm sorry.

"But anyway—what do you want?"

After pondering the matter for a few seconds, Snape said, "I want that which will do me most good and is in your power to give."

"A true Slytherin answer," Alexander said happily. "I won't tell you who else said the same thing; no sense spoiling your fun. And what would do you most good is indeed in my power to give, and amounts to two things. For the first, you'll need a mirror to appreciate the full effect." He snapped his fingers, and one appeared; a second snap, and Snape felt something _growing_ on him . . .

He looked in the mirror.

He was a very large, very plump, very feathered, very _yellow_ canary.

Alexander began laughing uproariously.

_That respect I gave you earlier? It's gone, old man. GONE. You are going DOWN._

Mercifully, the spell lasted only a minute, and Alexander kept himself perfectly composed as he lifted it.

"And how, Alexander," Snape hissed, "was that 'what would do me most good'?"

"You needed to be taken down a peg," the green-robed man said glibly. "And you can call me Alex. I prefer it."

Snape continued to mutter darkly, but didn't pursue the matter.

"And now, as to what I truly wish to give you."

The muttering stopped.

"I understand you are currently magically bound to my upstart many-times-great-nephew through that ugly mark on your left forearm."

Snape nodded, resignedly, though the means of identifying Voldemort amused him.

"I also understand that you are not truly loyal to him."

Another nod, this one a bit more enthusiastic.

"In light of this, at some point, if you want to live a normal life—not get killed when Voldemort does, for instance—you're going to need to divest yourself of that mark and all that goes with it. I'm offering a way to do that."

For the first time, Snape thought his eyes showed something akin to hope. "Are you serious?"

"I'll let the obvious pun pass on that one. Yes, I do mean what I say." He took a step forward, looking Snape in the eye, laid his right hand on the boy's chest, and spoke. "From this day forward, the phoenix pendant you wear shall have a green jewel embedded in it. When the time comes at which point you wish that your connection with Voldemort, and the mark that indicates it, be completely and permanently removed, you may touch the jewel and speak this wish, and it shall be so. So I speak, so I intend, and so may it be done."

Nothing seemed to happen.

_As if it would. I'll see it when I wake up, assuming this isn't some very, very strange product of my own twisted imagination._

"Now, I met with you alone for this because I thought I would relate to you best at first; you _are_ quite a Slytherin, after all. I didn't want you feeling apprehensive, or running off before we had the chance to inform you. But now, I think, you'll be wanting to meet with my colleagues."

_Say no to meeting the Founders? What does he think I am, an idiot?_

"Yes, please."

For the first time he could remember in the past few years, Snape smiled.

* * *

(A/N: My sincerest apologies for the very, very long delay in posting this chapter. I promise it'll never be so long again between updates.

Thanks for understanding, and hope you enjoyed it!)


	11. Repercussions

**Chapter 11: Repercussions**.

"_God, Sirius, how could this happen?_"

Sirius started. _What was that?_

The voice went on, echoing in a way that prevented him from telling where it was coming from, until he wasn't even sure of the exact words anymore, just a murmur that might be comforting if it weren't so eerie . . .

_It sounded like Aletha—but she couldn't be here, there's no way anyone else could be in this place, if it even is a real place, which I doubt—_

His memories of the past hour were rather fuzzy, but tinged with bitingly sharp edges that left him perfectly willing not to explore them.

_I got captured, Regulus was there, something bad happened to me—I think something happened with Reggie, not sure—and then next thing I know, here I am. A beach, right up against the ocean, in the middle of nowhere._

_And I think the water's rising._

"_That's why I love you so much, you know. . . . you _never give up "

_That's definitely Aletha. But where is she—where am I?_

Remembering something Danger had mentioned once, Sirius stomped the sand he was standing on. It recoiled slightly, then rebounded.

_So this is a dream. Or something like one._

He began to pace back and forth along the shore. _Now how do I get out?_

_Walk inland. Duh._

But when he tried that, he didn't get very far . . . it felt like each step he took up the beach doubled his exertion and his dizziness; there was no way he'd be able to get to safety before the water caught up with him . . .

Having no alternative, he continued to pace the shoreline, beginning to panic. _First it'll cover my feet. Then my legs. Then my torso. Then my neck, so only my head is above it, and I still won't be able to move, and then—_

Sirius abruptly cut off that train of thought, closed his eyes and focused his will on waking up. _Get me out of this place! Get me back into the real world. Get me where Letha is._

It felt like he was pushing against a barrier of some kind in his mind. The barrier was taut, but not very sturdy; it seemed to be strained, near its breaking even without his efforts against it. _That must be what's keeping me here. Is this a curse they put on me or something? Wake up! Now!_

The barrier burst.

The memories came flooding back.

Sirius staggered and fell face-first into the sand. _Holy mother of Merlin . . ._

The memories were one thing—that feeling of complete helplessness at his captors' hands, watching his brother stand stoically by, with the thought of maybe getting through to Regulus the only thing besides his own innate stubbornness preventing him from surrendering to the darkness that felt so inviting at the time—

"_Is this what you stand for?" I guess it is, for him . . . that's the last thing I remember . . ._

The pain was another.

Sirius had known, intellectually, that something very bad had probably happened to him to get him in this state. People didn't ordinarily wake up to dreamlike visualizations of dizzying seashores, with no memory of how they'd gotten there. There was probably something he'd been suppressing, maybe he'd been tortured . . .

But "maybe" was nowhere near as terrifying as "was."

He could still _feel_ it, he realized suddenly—how had he been ignoring this before?—his arms, legs, ribs, breaking under that curse, still felt shattered into a million pieces; so did every other inch of him, for that matter; it felt like the Cruciatus had never been lifted—

"_. . . now just come back so you can hear it!_"

"Damn it, Letha, I would if I could! I'm sorry!" He tried to shout, but he had forgotten the hoarseness that came from so much screaming. The words came out louder than they probably would have in reality, but nowhere near loud enough . . . Sirius could tell that they didn't reach their destination . . .

On the tip of his left index finger, the sensation of fire was suddenly replaced by one of cleansing wetness. Then his first knuckles, then the whole hand . . .

_The water's rising._

_And there's no way I'm going to be able to move in the state I'm in—even if I could crawl up a ways, the water would still catch up with me, and I don't even know if it'll ever stop rising—_

The water continued to rise. Where it touched, the burning pain of the Cruciatus receded to a dull throb, and Sirius welcomed the respite—but it also seemed to make him more and more lethargic, with a bone-deep, penetrating fatigue. He almost welcomed the thought of rest, too, but for where it might lead . . .

_If I fall asleep in a dream, does it mean I wake up? No, there's no way, it can't be that easy. Probably, it means . . ._

He caught himself drifting off and tried to force his eyes open, even concentrating on the pain to stave off the drowsiness.

_Because I think . . ._

The grains of sand wove a cool, comforting pattern on his limbs. He caught himself imagining how he could run around in it as Padfoot for hours at a time, or better yet, _sleep_ in it . . .

_if I fall asleep . . ._

He tried to concentrate on something, _anything_, but his thoughts kept running in circles and slipping away from him, broken up by the pain and the fatigue . . .

_I'll be—_

"_I won't let you die!_"

A blinding flash of blue filled the sky.

* * *

Aletha looked around, startled. It didn't _feel_ like she had moved, but last second she was leaning over Sirius in the hospital wing, and now she was—

_On a beach, facing the ocean?_

Her sharp eyes alighted on a form that had just been pulled into the water. A very recognizable form.

"SIRIUS!"

There was no reply.

_If he gets much further out, he'll die, I'm sure of it. I don't know _how _I'm sure, but I'm sure._

_Only one thing left to do, then._

Aletha ran to the edge of the island and dove in. It didn't look far, she could easily swim out and take him ba—_DAMN that's cold!_ She was fighting to breathe, to keep her head above water, never mind making any forward progress—

One of her flailing arms seized upon something.

_That's him! That's Sirius!_

_And he's not broken, physically he's completely fine, but he still _feels _the same things he's afflicted with in reality—_

_How do I know all this?_ she wondered suddenly.

_No time for that now. Swim now, think later._

Wrapping one of her arms around Sirius's chest, floating on her back and using her legs and other arm to push back towards the shore, she swam.

It was hard going, and the current pushed against her all the way. She was progressing steadily, but extremely slowly—and she could feel how tired she was becoming, how quickly her strength was fading, there was no way they'd make it back to dry land, and now it would be _both_ of them who died—_is that light just a reflection of the water? It doesn't look like it—too light—_

"Letha?" mumbled a voice. "Am I dead, or is that you?"

"Sirius! No, you're not dead; at least I don't think so. Very nearly were, though—is there any way you could swim for a bit?" Aletha gasped for air. "I don't think— I can— keep this up much longer—"

_How is the water rising and going out at the same time?_

Sirius changed into Padfoot. The shifting of weight caused him to topple out of Aletha's grasp, and caused Aletha to emit a very undignified yelp—but now she had gotten a grip on his fur, and Padfoot was doing a very energetic doggie-paddle towards shore . . .

"Thanks," she said, breathing heavily.

**Anytime.**

"Wha— I can hear you?"

**This is a dream-ish thing. You get anything you want in dreams.**

"But sometimes you have to work for it," Aletha said ruefully. "Doesn't matter, though—you're here, we're safe in three, two, one, _now_—" their feet touched dry land— "and somehow, we're both going to get out of this okay."

Padfoot took the last few steps up past the high-tide mark, shook himself dry, and transformed back into human. He sat down on the shore, watching the tide recede back out. Aletha took a seat next to him; they both took a minute to catch their breath.

"Do you know where this is?" Sirius asked. "Or why I'm here, or why you are? I'm guessing I almost died, and you rescued me—thank you for that—but what happened?"

Aletha figured a blunt approach would work best. "Do you remember what happened before you were here?"

"Yeah." Sirius shuddered. "I had blocked the memories at first, but I tried to force myself to 'wake up' and I wound up going right through that block. I can officially say that was the scariest thing in my life. Couldn't move a muscle, water kept on rising, and I was trying to balance 'damn, that HURTS!' and 'can't fall asleep or I think I'll die' . . ."

"And then I came."

"And then you came, and just in time, too. And I feel like—well, I think you might've healed me, somehow . . ."

Aletha caught her breath.

"Letha?" Sirius asked, suddenly concerned. "What is it?"

"I didn't even—God, I didn't _think_—"

"Think about what?"

"I'm an heir of Ravenclaw," she said. "I've known since this summer, but I guess I just pushed it from my mind. Mum had the same gift—she used to use it to heal the birds she worked with, till she realized it was making her really tired and stopped. She was absolutely sure that was why she died over the summer. She used to make me promise never to try to heal anything by touch, because she didn't want to have the same thing happen to me . . ."

"Merlin."

"Mm-hmm," Aletha said sharply. "And now _I_'ve gone and done it, and for a really big thing, too, so even if you survive now, _I_ probably won't, someone still has to die—"

Sirius interrupted her. "Stop it," he said. "Stop it right there. There are so many reasons why what happened might've happened, and very few of them are a death sentence for you. Letha, your mum was a Muggle; that might've had something to do with it, maybe it sapped her life energy because it couldn't use her magic."

"But—"

"No buts. Remember the stories? Rowena healed a whole class from the attacks of a rampaging dragon, and all she got from it was some white hair. Do you think her line would've survived until now if the power was so dangerous as all that? We've _met_ the Ravenclaws. They would've warned you, at least!"

Despite herself, Aletha laughed. "They're not allowed to reveal who the Heirs are. What would they have said? 'You might or might not have a gift for Healing, but if you do, don't use it?'"

"They may be mysterious, but they're not sadistic." He grasped her hand comfortingly. "I really don't think you should worry so much about this. We don't have the answers."

"Who does, then?"

"Dumbledore."

With her free hand, Aletha slapped her forehead. "Should've thought of that myself," she muttered.

"You just saved my life. I don't blame you."

"Oh? What do you do, then?"

"This."

He kissed her.

When they broke apart, they were both smiling widely.

"I think I love you, Aletha Freeman." Sirius shook his head, laughing. "Never thought I'd actually say that."

"I think I love you too, Sirius Black." She paused and cocked her head. "What?" she teased. "No pithy comment about never thinking you'd hear that?"

"Nope. I heard it already. Everything you said before you got here."

"Good. I meant you to hear it, even though I figured you wouldn't. Whenever you play a remarkably stupid prank on me that winds up getting me mad at you, remember what I said. It's the truth."

Sirius grinned cheekily. "No, _you're_ the—"

Aletha's eyes flashed. "If you value my good humor, do _not_ complete that sentence."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, dear."

Hand in hand, the two walked inland . . . back to life.

* * *

Back in the Hospital Wing, Aletha and Sirius seemed frozen in time. A blue nimbus pulsated around them, and it seemed to be growing stronger . . .

"My God," Madam Pomfrey breathed. "It's— he's getting better! Bones are mending, heartbeat is speeding up—"

"Is Aletha okay too?" Danger asked. "It seems like she's using her energy to help him, but it would be bad for both of them if she ran out . . ."

Madam Pomfrey ran a second set of diagnostics. "You're right," she said. "She _is_ using her energy—it's getting dangerously low, actually—but wait, there it goes back up again. I'm afraid I'm not the best person to be asking for answers; I really don't understand what's happening at all."

"Is there anything we can do to help them?" asked James.

"No, I don't think there is. Whatever's happening . . . I'm afraid to break the connection between them. There's some very powerful magic at work here, and meddling with it could kill both of them."

Silence pervaded for a minute while the blue continued its ebb and flow. Suddenly, Hermione gasped. "I think I know what it is!" she exclaimed.

"What?" said Ron.

"It's the Ravenclaw gift! The _Founders_ book mentioned it exhibiting a blue light, and we already knew Aletha had Margaret Ravenclaw's brooch—"

"Great," Harry said, relaxing a bit but still very tense. "That makes perfect sense—and it means Sirius will survive, I hope . . ."

"I think it does," said Ginny. "Look!" And sure enough, the light was glowing far more brightly than before, steadily, for several seconds; it faded one last time, then both Aletha's and Sirius's eyes opened.

Aletha gently took her hand off Sirius's forehead, turned to face Madam Pomfrey, managed to ask "How is he now?", then fell back on Sirius's bed, asleep.

Madam Pomfrey ran the spell, and smiled. "He'll be fine. He's not completely healed, but what's left is well within my power to fix. Aletha has exhausted herself with the effort, but she will recover with nothing more than some good rest. They should both be out and about in a few days."

With that, it seemed, the joyous reality finally permeated the Pack. Moony barked happily; Harry and Danger transformed and echoed him. Excited chatter filled the air, and hugs were given all around. Again, they had come to the brink of disaster—again, miraculously, they had subverted it.

Amidst the happiness, Lily stalked up and tugged sharply on the sleeve of Danger's robes. "We need to talk," she said icily.

Danger frowned and followed Lily out of the Hospital Wing, where the red-haired girl cast a Privacy Spell.

"What is it?" She was rather worried; Lily had her hands on her hips, and was giving Danger the coldest glare she had ever seen from anyone.

"'What is it?' I generally like you, Danger. I think you're a nice girl, and exactly what Remus needs, most of the time. But I will make one thing abundantly clear:

"I am more than capable of fighting my own battles. I most definitely do _not_ need to be 'rescued'. _Especially_ in a crisis like the one that occurred tonight."

Danger was flabbergasted. "Lily, that's not it at all! I was only trying—"

"Let me guess," Lily interrupted. She was still speaking in that terribly cold tone; Danger would almost rather she were yelling. "You wanted to keep me safe. Well, that's all well and good. But _I do not need rescuing_."

"I wanted to keep _everyone_ safe, Lily!"

"Then why was I the only one who got Portkeyed to 'safety' tonight?"

"Because I didn't have time to get to everyone!" Danger shouted. "Damn it, Lily, the wards were going up, what did you expect me to do? I only had a few minutes' warning, and even then I wasn't sure there'd be an attack! I didn't want _anyone_ to have to fight. Sorry for caring!"

Lily fixed her gaze, if possible, even more intently. "Let me get one thing through your head, Danger. This is a _war_. In justified wars—and I can hardly think of a way war could be more justified than this—the right thing to do is _fight_. Sometimes that fighting leads to deaths, on both sides, and that's the tragedy of war. But the people who fight and die are acting far more admirably than those who refuse to resist at all."

"I _did_ fight, Lily! I killed a bloody Death Eater, and I still hate myself for it! Don't you lecture _me_ on why we have to fight!"

Lily's expression changed not at all. "So you fought. Good for you. That doesn't change the fact that you forced _me_ into being a coward. You made a decision for me that I had the right to make myself, and you definitely did _not_ choose the same thing I would have. Think about that."

She cancelled the Privacy Spell and stalked off.

* * *

Over the next few hours, the various couples of the Pack drifted back home, or something like it. The four time-travelers returned to the Lair; Peter, Rachel, Sirius, and Aletha went to Potter Manor; James and Lily stayed in the Den, and that left Moony and Danger with Katherine at the Lupins' cottage. They Apparated into the entranceway—mercifully, someone from the Order had removed all traces of the attack. Remus and Danger walked into the den room, saw the mattress they had put there just before moonrise—_seems so long ago, now_—and collapsed on it.

Danger stared out the window into the near-dawn sky. For a while, neither one of them spoke.

"I feel filthy," Danger said finally.

Moony cocked his head at her. **You could go take a shower or something . . .**

"That's not what I mean and you know it!" she snapped, then relented. "Sorry."

**Me too. Sometimes I really should think before I think.**

"Har har. But what I mean is— well, I finally got my revenge on the people who killed my parents. One of them is dead, the other has a nice set of teeth marks in his right thigh. I still don't even know their names. And I _hate_ myself for having done that to them. Don't tell me they deserved it; I know they probably did. I just feel completely hollow inside."

**Did you mean to kill the one?**

"Obviously," said Danger acerbically. "It's rather hard to bite someone's neck as a wolf without _meaning_ to do it."

**That's not what I mean, and _you_ know it. Did you _want_ to kill him? Did you realize who they were, then plot it out and think, all right, I'll jump at _this_ instant to cause him the most—**

"No, not at all. I just snapped, I guess. I couldn't take it anymore—they'd killed my parents, they'd killed John, and at the time I was sure they'd killed _you_ . . ."

Moony went mentally silent for a bit.

He shifted to look at Danger more directly with big brownish-blue canine eyes. **Do you want my opinion?**

"Let's hear it."

**I don't think you have anything to be ashamed of.**

"Remus, I _killed_ him!"

**What are you afraid of, really? That this means you're like them?**

"I guess . . ."

**It means nothing like that at all.** Remus's mental tone belied vehemence of a level Danger rarely saw. **You fought, Danger—bravely and well. If you hadn't attacked him, there's a good chance he would've killed you. Yes, it's regrettable that he died. But don't blame yourself for it. Blame Voldemort, for ordering the attacks; blame the Death Eaters, for carrying them out; _they_ bear the responsibility, not you.**

Danger sighed. "My brain agrees with you. He deserved it. But my heart still thinks what I did was unforgivably gruesome and barbaric . . ."

**I don't know what to say, Danger. Death _is_ gruesome and barbaric. I've never been in this position before either, you know, and I hate it as much as you do, if not more . . .**

Dawn heralded moonset, and Remus transformed back into human. Danger shifted to accomodate his new shape.

"I lost my father out of all this. I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of it. Just— just know I love you, and no matter what happens, I'll still be there for you."

"I love you too, and you know I'll be there for you too. And thanks. You've given me some much-needed perspective, if nothing else . . ."

Danger turned over, snuggled closer to Remus, and both of them fell into fitful sleep.

* * *

Lily lay on the padded floor of the Den's central room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. She heard the small _click_ of someone opening the library door, and was able to identify who it was by the shadow cast by his hairstyle.

"Hi, James," she said dully. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"The Death Eaters. When they saw my house was empty—they burned it down."

"Oh." James sat down abruptly where he stood, reasonably close to her. "Oh, Merlin . . . I'm so sorry, Lily. Did you lose much?"

"_Did I lose much._ Only everything that wasn't in my trunk, James." She laughed humorlessly.

"All right, stupid question."

"I'll forgive you for it." She sat up abruptly. "It's not like it's the end of the world—my parents have insurance, they'll be able to replace most of it—and I'm thanking God no one actually died . . . but still. It was my home."

James scooted closer to Lily and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I understand."

"Oh, and I blew up at Danger earlier. She Apparated to me just before the attacks, told me to get my family and get out. I was pretty upset at where that led, and I saw her _right_ after Dumbledore told me the news."

"I can imagine," he said ruefully. "But if she hadn't gotten to you in time—Lily, you're great at Defense, but I don't think any of us could personally fight five Death Eaters at once. Some things—well, just be glad every_one_ was okay. The _thing_s will resolve themselves eventually."

"I know. And really, it wasn't like Danger was _forcing_ me to evacuate. I could've ignored her just fine." Lily laughed humorlessly. "To be honest, I think I was scared myself. And that scares me, because I _want_ to fight back against them, I know I can, I just need to convince myself of that . . ."

"Well, don't be scared of being scared of being scared. For what it's worth, I was too."

"James Potter, scared? That's reassuring. Maybe I _do_ have a chance."

They laughed again, and this time there was real humor in it.

* * *

"Well, here we are," Harry said, lying in his bedroom that night. "Glad that's over."

"Me too," said Ginny from her spot next to him. "That's the third major battle I've been in, and it really doesn't get any easier with time."

"No," Harry agreed. "It doesn't." His expression clouded over. "But it can get harder with time . . . if one doesn't prepare as diligently as one should for the very real threat that's out there, and one lets one's Defense skills fade somewhat with time . . ."

Ginny propped herself up on an elbow to frown properly at him. "By 'one', you mean 'you', don't you?" Harry nodded. "Well, I certainly don't agree. You've been doing a great job with the D.A., your Defense classes, the advanced research I know you've been doing during some of your free time . . ."

"All right, so maybe I'm overstating a little bit. But when we first got here, I was completely gung-ho about finishing my mission. I was learning new techniques, practicing every day, looking for clues to the Horcruxes . . . lately, not so much. I let myself get too much into the rhythm of being a somewhat _normal_ Hogwarts student, now teacher—"

"That's not a bad thing, Harry!" Ginny interrupted indignantly.

"—and as I was about to say, I like it a lot. But there are still two Horcruxes out there. I definitely _know_ where at least one of them is, and I still have no idea how Voldemort might actually defeated even after I destroy those. So I feel like I've been pretty lax."

"Why now?"

"Because tonight made me realize just how powerful he is in this time. It's one thing to hear about attacks when Hermione reads the _Prophet_—we had that in my sixth year, too, and nothing really hit close to home. Even getting captured at the end of last year wasn't as bad as it could've been, because we were able to escape so quickly. But having the houses of every single one of your closest friends and family targeted, and having all of them have to fight for their lives—that'll do it."

"I guess, _maybe_, you have a point. But I don't want you to drive yourself crazy over this, okay? I'm not going to let you get Harry Potter tunnel vision again!"

"Slave driver," Harry grumbled, but it was with a smile on his face. "All right. Enough of that." His features changed into an expression that Ginny found immensely appealing.

"Yesterday afternoon," he explained in a casual tone, "I set activatable Silencing Wards around this room. Simply because I had nothing better to do with my time, you understand. It strikes me that, despite our wedding having been yesterday, we haven't had a chance to test them yet. Would you care to rectify that situation?"

Ginny grinned at him. "Why, of course."

Harry grabbed his wand on the bedside table and waved it vaguely around his head. Yellow lines criscrossed briefly on the walls.

"_Silencio._"

* * *

"Damn it, I just wish this war would _end_ already!"

Rachel raised her eyebrows; Peter used profanity very rarely. She said nothing, merely let him continue.

"Tonight—Rachel, I don't know about you, but for me that was _scary_. I was terrified. I'm surprised I didn't wet my pants. I'm even more surprised I actually fought effectively—or Mr. Potter said so, at least. It's kind of a blur in my memories. And then, about halfway through, I realized all of a sudden that not only was I in danger, so were you, and so was the baby—"

"And we've already discussed this to death—" Peter cringed— "sorry, bad choice of words—and you understand fully where I'm coming from, at least for the next few months."

"I know, but this is how I felt then. And more than being scared, I just hated the whole fact that Voldemort even existed as a threat we had to fight against. Not that I wouldn't fight him—I just wished we didn't have to."

Rachel nodded sympathetically. "The same for me. I really, really hate wars. They bring out the worst in people. Even normally good people—remember what Harry's told us about the Ministry authorizing Unforgivables for Aurors around this time?"

"Yeah."

They shared a few minutes' silence.

Rachel smiled. "But I think I have a name idea for our first child."

"What is it?"

"Well, assuming it's a girl . . . Irene. It means—"

"—peace," they both finished together. "I think that's perfect," Peter said. "And I'm assuming, since you came up with a girl's name, you want me to figure out a boy's?"

"If you can." Rachel smiled.

"Let's see . . ." He thought for a bit, trying to come up with something meaningful. _Tom or Thomas is right out, as are all the names of the people who have bullied me over the years. I'm not good with meanings like Rachel is . . . I'm not even sure how I remembered Irene . . ._

"How about Geoffrey? I'm not sure what it means, but I like it for a name."

"I'm not sure either, but I like it too. Irene or Geoffrey it is."

They kissed.

* * *

All the Pack slept contentedly late on Boxing Day. By common agreement, after visiting Sirius and Aletha in the Hospital Wing—Aletha was still asleep, but Sirius was awake and happy to see them—they met in the Hogwarts Den around four o'clock P.M. Lily and James were already there, and Danger winced when she saw the former.

"Look, Lily, I thought about what you told me, and you're right. I'm sorry; I guess I was being a bit too forceful about it . . ."

To Danger's surprise, Lily smiled. "It's fine, Danger. I overreacted too. Dumbledore had just told me the Death Eaters had burned down my house." Shocked expressions all around. "I wasn't thinking too clearly. As long as you understand where I was coming from, we're fine."

"Trust me, I do. And I'm so sorry about your house." Danger stuck out her hand. "Friends?"

"Friends." Lily shook it.

"Erm— Danger, James?" Harry asked. "I know this might be uncomfortable for you, but . . . is there any chance you could give me Pensieve memories of last night? I know a lot of the Death Eaters by sight or sound, and I might be able to identify some of them. I'm planning on going to the Ministry later today, and I'd like to be able to report some names other than the ones I saw myself."

Danger shrugged. "I'm fine with it; I just don't know how I'm supposed to give you a memory."

"Oh, okay." Harry pulled his Pensieve out of his pocket and enlarged it. "Concentrate on your memory of what happened, specifically on where it started and ended, then touch your wand to your temple and pull out a copy of the thought. It'll look kind of silvery and fine-stranded."

"Um— do I have to give you the whole thing? Because there's part of it I don't really want to concentrate on . . ."

"No, just enough to identify the Death Eaters is fine. Is everything OK, though?"

"Yes, it's fine, me and Remus talked it through—I just don't want to have to revisit it any more often than I absolutely have to." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, brows furrowed, then touched her wand to her right temple and pulled.

Nothing happened. Danger opened her eyes, scowling.

Harry smiled reassuringly. "It's fine," he said. "It takes some getting used to. I didn't get it the first time either."

It took her several tries, but Danger finally managed to produce the memory. Harry entered it; his body seemed to freeze prone over the Pensieve; about a minute later, he stood up. "Wow," he said. "Danger, you were great. And those Death Eaters were Igor Karkaroff and Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy was the one you bit on the thigh."

_So now I finally know. I have names to pin the blame on. Karkaroff, whom I killed—Malfoy, whom I injured. They each killed one of my parents._

_I remember, when Dumbledore told me the news, I swore I'd find them and kill them. I'm a bit more than halfway there, but I don't want to go any further._

_Killing him didn't bring back my parents. It didn't make me feel good—it made me feel terrible, actually, which I'll take as a good sign. It didn't restore any of the lives he's destroyed._

_At least now he won't destroy any more._

"Thanks, Harry."

_It's all I can ask for._

* * *

Aletha and Sirius walked along the corridors of Hogwarts a few days later, exulting in the joy of having recovered from inevitable doom, considering what it all now meant.

_And neither of us has the answers. So we're going to someone who does._

_Dumbledore's never said anything to us directly about any specific knowledge of Heirs, but he does seem to be the one to ask about such things. God knows he has his fingers in everything else around here._

They reached the seventh-floor corridor that was home to the gargoyle guard and made to walk towards it, when—

Regulus Black burst out the entranceway to the Headmaster's office, walking purposefully away from them.

_I think something's changed on that front,_ Aletha mused. _Regulus could never be described as doing anything purposefully before._

"Hey!" Sirius called after him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Regulus whirled around. "Oh," he said. "You're alive."

Sirius took a few steps forward, glaring harshly. "_Oh._ Is that all you have to say, after letting me get tortured yesterday? Wish you'd helped them finish the job? _Oh_?"

Regulus backpedaled instinctively from the force of his brother's shout. "No, Sirius, I didn't mean it like that at all! I'm just surprised, damn it! I could barely believe—you looked so badly hurt when I saw you—"

"_You don't care!_" was the angry response. "You've joined with _Voldemort_. I tried to talk you around, but you'd already thrown your lot in with the crazy people, going all on about how 'some people need to be killed' and the superiority rubbish the Death Eaters spout by rote. You're one of them now—you just stood there and let me get tortured! Hell, I bet you _enjoyed_ it, didn't you!"

"Of course not, Siri, you're my _brother_, I—" Regulus was visibly affected, fighting back tears, but Sirius didn't seem to notice.

"You have no right to call me that," he growled. "Officially, I've been disowned by our dear old Mum. You've proven by your actions that you're just like every other insane Black on the face of the magical world. So I'm not your brother anymore. I do _so_ hope you're happy now." The sarcasm was palpable. Sirius paused, eyes still boring holes into Regulus's frightened visage—indeed, they seemed to look right past the emotions etched upon it. If he were in Animagus form, Aletha was sure, he would be growling through bared teeth.

Regulus seized the chance, however minute, that the pause granted him. "_Not anymore!_" he practically sobbed.

Sirius regarded him dumbly, the malevolence dropping from his features and changing his expression into one of simple befuddlement. "Not anymore? What do you mean, not anymore?" But within a few seconds, he had regained his steam. "There's no _way_ you could flip-flop so quickly, you've decided already, now don't torture me by pretending you haven't!"

_No, there's no way Regulus could be pretending all this. He looks absolutely devastated, and Sirius won't let him get a word in edgewise. And there's something I can do about _that

Aletha cuffed Sirius sharply on the shoulder.

"What?" he asked her, scowling.

"Give him a chance!" she yelled. "Don't you see how upset he is?" And Sirius looked back, and for the first time he really _did_ see—tears were running down his brother's face, and Regulus looked as though he might actually collapse if this went on much longer.

Something about his brother's despair made Sirius drop his anger in an instant. Abandoning all pretense, he ran to Regulus and engulfed him in a tight hug. "Reggie, I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't think, I just let my mouth run away from me—you know I tend to do that sometimes—"

They dropped the hug. "Yeah, I know," said Regulus with a poor attempt at a smile. "But I'm a double agent now, Siri. I already made my decision, true, but that doesn't mean I have to live by that my whole life. It's harder, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. Professor Dumbledore said something about choosing the right thing instead of the easy one . . ."

"Yeah, he's said that to me too. Usually when he assigned punishment for some prank I'd done."

They laughed.

"Really, though," said Sirius, "how'd you get here? Even if you decided last night that you needed to do something, I don't see how Voldemort would let you out of his grasp so easily, especially after someone escaped—and come to think of it, how did _I_ get here? I thought he did it intentionally, to torment the Pa– er, my friends, but now I'm not so sure . . ."

Regulus looked up at him. "It was Snape," he said. "For both. V-Vol– well, you know— he didn't care about tormenting your friends, he just wanted to torment _you_. But Snape was manning the scrying station for your cell, and he saw everything that happened, and he saw my reaction after the three big Death Eaters had left."

"Your reaction?"

"I cried," Regulus said plainly, but with a trace of a hiccup in his voice. "You had just gotten a few words out before you fell unconscious—'Is this what you stand for?'—and I realized it wasn't, that I had made a really huge mistake I had no idea how to fix. I was willing to subscribe to their general ideas if it meant I'd have some friends for once, but I never realized how far they actually took it."

"You never realized?" Sirius's tone expressed shock, but not remonstration. "Reggie, the papers must've printed articles about attacks a few times a week! You didn't know about those?"

Regulus gave a helples shrug. "No. Basically everyone in Slytherin says the _Prophet_ articles are biased against them, so no one talks about anything that might be construed as against the Dark Lord for fear of being called a Mudblood-lover or worse. No one in the upper years, at least. I think one of the second-years asked some innocent question about it last month. She wound up in hospital for three days."

Sirius shook his head. _Merlin, how can this be going on without our realizing it? We just think everyone in Slytherin is evil, but they're not born that way, it's just a choice that _some _of them make . . . and then those try to suppress the others . . ._

_Why couldn't this all be nice and simple?_

"Okay, you didn't know about how the Death Eaters generally acted like murderous bastards. I guess I can understand that—" _not really, but that's not what Reggie needs to hear right now—_ "but where does Snape come in?"

So Regulus told him. How Snape had transported Regulus to see Dumbledore, and then, he supposed, transported Sirius too. It was the same spell, and they'd arrived within minutes of each other . . . Regulus had spent the past nights in the deserted Slytherin dormitory, trying to come to terms with his situation, not quite ready to risk everything on the whim of a wizard that could just as easily use the information he would be given as ammunition to ruin the rest of his life . . .

During this explanation, Sirius's face went through a number of very interesting facial expressions. _Snape saved me? _Snape _saved me? Snape _saved _me? Snape saved _me

_And damnit, now _I _owe _him _a life debt . . . and he deserves it, too . . ._

"And today," Regulus continued, "I finally talked to Dumbledore, and he was amazingly accepting. He said he was thankful I realized my mistake so quickly, because most people never do, and it might be hard to fix, but at least I could still fix it. And I agree." He smiled faintly. "I, uh, have to go—there's some things I have to do—but I'll see you sometimes this term, right?"

"Absolutely, Reggie. I promise."

Regulus turned and left, with a bit more spring in his step than before.

Aletha had watched the whole exchange with a private smile. _So Sirius exploded. I was kind of expecting that. But then he had the grace—okay, I pushed him into having the grace, or something remotely gracelike—to realize he'd been wrong, and he changed. Just like that._

_And I think he was probably so sensitive about Regulus because Regulus really hurt him with his apparent defection. He was really upset when Regulus stopped listening to him much—what was that, last year?—and now he got hit with this, while he was captured, while he was _tortured

_I think I can understand. But that's no reason not to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to tease him._ Aletha schooled her features into a carefully neutral expression as Sirius approached her.

"I'm still mad at you for blowing up like that, you know," she said acerbically.

"I'm sorry, Letha, I didn't think . . ."

"Yes, about that. This conversation made me realize something." Sirius looked stricken; Aletha was waging an all-out internal war against the laughter that threatened to erupt. This was just too good a set-up.

"What?"

"You're still stupid Sirius."

Sirius gaped at her, not sure where this was leading but sure it wasn't good. "What do you—"

Aletha cut him off, smiling, before he could take that train of thought too far. "But you're _my_ stupid Sirius."

They laughed, and the tension was gone.

"Let's see Dumbledore now," Sirius suggested.

"Yes." Aletha allowed herself one last laugh. "Let's."

* * *

"Thus, no, Aletha, I do not believe you have anything to fear from your Ravenclaw gift, provided you do not overtax yourself—and for a person such as yourself, and in a place such as this one, such would be very difficult indeed."

"What do you mean, Professor?" Aletha asked. "Does Hogwarts do something to my magic?"

Dumbledore nodded, eyes twinkling. "Of course, Aletha. It does something to the magic of everyone who resides within these walls. The Founders poured into these stones the very essence of who they were, and in so doing, granted the castle powers I do not believe even they fully anticipated. Even now, nearly a thousand years later, the power still reinforces the unique magics of those whom they would have felt would most need the extra assistance—their Heirs."

"But what does that mean, Professor?" Sirius asked.

"To the point as always, I see, Mr. Black." Dumbledore smiled under his beard. "What it means, most directly, is that you, Aletha, who hold the Ravenclaw gift, as well as Harry and James Potter, who hold the Gryffindor gift, will find your powers much more readily available within the walls of the castle than they would be in the wider world. You will tire less easily when using them, and in extreme cases such as the one of a few days past, you will recover far more quickly than you otherwise might from your exertions. A comparable effort once left Rowena comatose for several weeks."

"Well, that's good to know. I wouldn't want to miss that much of my life." Aletha smiled, then remembered something she had meant to ask him. "Next year, I'm planning to take an additional course in basic Healing under Madam Pomfrey, with the thought that I might be able to complete Healer School that much faster—I've already decided that's what I want to do with myself. Would it be safe for me to explore this power as part of this course?"

"Indeed it would, Aletha. Madam Pomfrey will be able to advise you as to effective limits you should put on it—I shall speak with her on this matter—but ultimately, I believe the best judge of your capacity will remain yourself. As long as you do not willfully ignore the signals your body sends you, I have every assurance that you will be perfectly safe in the use of your gift. Though I would recommend it remain inconspicuous; no reason to deprive oneself of a potentional resource against one's enemies, is there?"

The three of them stood. Dumbledore shook Sirius's hand, then Aletha's.

"Thank you, Professor," Aletha said. "I appreciate the advice."

"It is my pleasure, Aletha," was the response. "Welcome home, eagle's daughter."

Aletha smiled. "It's good to be here."

* * *

"Your wand, please."

Harry looked up with surprise at the man behind the security checkpoint at the Ministry of Magic. _I would've expected some job changes in this position over the course of twenty years . . ._ He fetched out his wand and handed it over; Eric Munch dropped it on a brass dish, which vibrated and spit out a piece of parchment. Harry received his wand back; the wizard kept the parchment and read it to confirm.

"Holly with phoenix feather core, been in use— ah, sod it, I always knew this thing would go haywire eventually. You can go on ahead."

"Thank you." Harry walked forward and entered one of the lifts alone.

_I wonder what it said?_

_So. Time to meet with Crouch. I wonder if he's as ridiculously anti-Voldemort as he is in our history books. He did seem very eager to meet with me when I told him I had information about the Death Eaters . . ._

**A little _too_ eager, if you ask me. I still wish you'd let me come along with you.**

**So do I, Ginny, but I think Crouch wants to talk to one person. It'd make him feel less intimidated, more intimidating—he doesn't know me—and he might actually listen to what I have to say.**

A sarcastic laugh. **Good luck with that. You'll need it.**

_Merlin, will I ever . . ._

"Level two," rang out a voice in the lift as the doors pulled open. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, comprising Auror Headquarters, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, Wizengamot Administration Services . . ."

Harry was out the door before the message was finished playing. He knew exactly where he was going.

_Auror cube farm, last door on the right._

He stopped. The door he sought was emblazoned, in very large letters:

_Bartemius  
CROUCH_

_Head of the Department of  
MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT_

**I get the feeling Crouch thrives on intimidation,** Ginny commented.

He knocked.

"Come in," came a clipped voice within.

Harry opened the door and stepped inside.

**Yes, he definitely does.**

Most of the space in the room was taken up by a very long desk in gleaming mahogany. Crouch sat at one end; as Harry entered, the Department Head stood and approached the center of the room.

Harry met him halfway and shook his hand. "I'm Harry Potter," he said. "I've heard quite a lot about you." _Not anywhere near all of it good._

"Whereas, at the moment, all I know about you is that you possess certain information my Department would find useful." He waved his wand and conjured two hard-backed chairs, one on each side of the desk, sat down in one, and motioned Harry to the other.

This, of course, forced Harry to walk back around the desk—a trek that took a good twenty seconds. _This is getting ridiculous._

"Now." Crouch steepled his hands in a poor imitation of a kindly attitude. "What is it you have to tell me?"

"Sir—" Harry thought it couldn't hurt, and would probably help, to feign as much respect of Crouch as he could stand— "I have the names of, and evidence pointing to, some two dozen Death Eaters. I'm not sure your Department knows of any of them."

"Let's hear it, then."

Without further preamble, Harry gave a list of names. "Walden Macnair. Lucius Malfoy. Igor Karkaroff, but he's dead." Crouch's gaze felt almost animalistic after that piece of news. "Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange. Fenrir Greyback. Augustus Crabbe." The list went on. A good number were Death Eaters who had attacked the Lair, Potter Manor, or the Lupins'; the rest came from Harry's foreknowledge, with very little (indeed, usually nothing) by way of corroborating evidence. Harry hoped Crouch's well-known knee-jerk reactions to anything having to do with Voldemort would help him here.

"Good, good. You said you had evidence, Mr. Potter?"

In answer, Harry pulled out a small collection of memory vials from his pocket. "Right here, sir. My friends and I were the target of Death Eater attacks on Christmas night. These are our memories of fighting them off. I regret that not all of the combatants were willing to give their memories, but some are quite traumatic . . ."

Crouch waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing wrong with that. I've got all the information I need. I'll have these rounded up and thrown in Azkaban as soon as I can find them. You've done the Ministry a great service, my—"

Harry scowled, interrupting his speech. "You're not going to give them trials?"

"How quaint, Mr. Potter!" Crouch laughed. "Your attitude towards justice is admirable, to be sure, but in a time such as this one, we must do everything we can to stem the tide of attacks! For this reason, just last month Minister Bagnold passed an emergency war powers bill. Anyone who engages in organized Dark activity witnessed by at least one member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement may be convicted of treason without further trial, and such organized Dark activity may be stopped with force up to and including the use of certain previously forbidden curses."

"Really, Mr. Crouch?" Harry's tone was icy, and he spat out his question through clenched teeth; Crouch responded in kind.

"Really, Mr. Potter. This bill will effect _success_ in Ministerial efforts against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; your misguided sentiment, I can assure you, will not."

"So the Unforgivable Curses aren't unforgivable anymore?"

"You shouldn't even need to ask, boy. They—"

"_Don't call me boy._" The vague, electrical feeling of a clash between two powerful, angry wizards filled the room. "I know far more about the results of such a shortsighted measure than you, _Director_. Fighting fire with fire will make _us_ no better than _them_. Many Aurors have lost loved ones to Voldemort. Do you truly believe that giving them the power to legally torture his followers is a _good thing_?"

"Your arrogance does not become you, _boy_!" Crouch was truly furious now. "You know _nothing_ about that of which you speak, nothing about what His followers are truly capable of—why, I might even suspect you to be a Death Eater yourself! Bandying about about 'truth' and 'justice' just so more of your buddies survive—"

"Crouch, I would never—"

"Silence! I always thought it suspicious you knew so many names—"

"_Voldemort killed my parents when I was a year old!_" Harry shouted. "I would _never_ join him! Wondering why I know so much? Well, maybe it's because I _fight_ him! We as a country are more than capable of stopping Voldemort without torturing his servants. It's attitudes like yours that threw Sirius into prison when he was completely innocent, that—"

"Sirius Black?"

"Yes, you idiot, Sirius, Black, my godf—"

Harry suddenly realized what he was saying—what he had already said—and cut himself off. He could feel his stomach sinking to what felt like the general depth of the Department of Mysteries, seven floors below them.

_I just gave it away,_ he realized with mounting dread. _Everything. Crouch is no idiot, he'll figure it out, I really _am _doomed now—_

He stood abruptly and Apparated away.

* * *

In his office, Crouch stared at the spot where Harry had been.

_So far as I know, Sirius Black has never been imprisoned for Death Eater activity. Actually, I'm sure he hasn't—he's still in Hogwarts, a seventh-year if I remember correctly. Quite the uproar there was at his being disowned for speaking out against his family's views._

_So, young Mr. Potter—of whose existence I was not aware, and I do have quite a good knowledge of that family, Charles has always been in opposition to my more drastic measures—_

—_knows events that have not transpired, and speaks of them as though they have already occurred. I do not believe he is delusional. Which leaves . . ._

_I think a thorough investigation of Harry James Potter is in order._

* * *

(A/N: See, I _can_ update more often than once a month! Yes, Harry's done something very stupid, and it's going to come back to haunt him soon.

If you liked it, please review!)


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